


Time Waits for No One

by agentofvalue



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama & Romance, F/M, Immortality, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-06-01 16:14:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6527080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentofvalue/pseuds/agentofvalue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy hasn’t aged in seventy years. Apparently, it took a great deal Vita Radiation to make a super soldier, but it didn’t take much serum to change a person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rumors

**Author's Note:**

> I posted a preview of this [here](http://agentofvalue.tumblr.com/post/141584112379/time-waits-for-no-one-wip) on my Tumblr, so if it's familiar that's why. It has been updated and expanded since then. Enjoy!

So, she had felt that rusty rebar enter her body in the most unpleasant way. She’d felt all the breath leave her lungs as she crashed onto the pallet. She’d seen Whitney’s face looking at her from above and she knew the woman thought she would die. Well, Whitney wasn’t the only one.

But Peggy hadn’t died.

They’d got her off the rebar and to Violet’s. The only thing Peggy could really remember besides the pain was Vi saying, “Bleeding appears to be under control.” And that shouldn’t have been possible.

Even Peggy knew how stupid it was not to go to hospital. She’d had a metal rod go through her body. Through her! She needed more than stitches. She needed surgery, but going somewhere public put others at risk.

So, she had laid there on Violet’s couch probably dying, definitely bleeding and remembered the last time she had been hurt this badly.

Shot in twice the back with the scars to prove it. It had been during the war and things had gone sideways as they usually did. They’d hit her as she retreated. Still, she got herself back to the safe house and even talked Rogers through removing the bullets. She’d never seen so much blood—not so much of her own blood at least. His worried face was enough to say she was in serious trouble. It was the same look her friends had given her as they gathered around the couch.

Only a few days after she was impaled, she realized the pain was gone. It was then it occurred to her something wasn’t right. She was grateful, but normal people didn’t heal that quickly. At first, she thought she had merely been distracted. There were other things to worry about and mid-crisis wasn’t the time to gripe. But, in fact, she was fine. A little stiff and the wound was raw, pink, and delicate, but it was healed. Days later. 

She’d thought it luck and the small caliber bullets that had kept her alive during the first near-death experience, but after the second she thought it was more than that. It had been the first sign. The first time she noticed there was something different about her.

It was years later and a few more close calls when she finally admitted it. A single grey hair belonging to Howard Stark had brought it all to light. He had burst into her office and holding the thing in front of him like it was worse than anything he had even invented.

“It’s grey, Carter!” he had hollered.

She had leaped from behind her desk, thinking there was something actually the matter.

“Grey. A grey hair,” he had said, utterly collapsing into a chair in front of her desk and scattering a few things off the tabletop.

“Oh, Howard!” She sank into the chair next to him and waited for her heart rate to return to normal. “I thought there was an emergency.”

“This _is_ an emergency, Peggy. I’m getting old.”

“But still as spry as ever. Buck up.”

She patted him on the knee and got up to collect the papers and her plaque that read ‘Director Carter’ from the floor where it had toppled. Once the items were back in their place, she settled back in her own high-backed chair.

“It’s been ten years we started S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Time flies.”

“Seriously, we are getting old,” he said, staring at the hair pinched between his fingers.

“Speak for yourself,” she said, tossing her hair—longer than she’d had it in years, but still curled and without a trace of grey—over her shoulder. “I still look twenty-five.”

It had been a joke. What woman didn’t stop counting their birthdays after thirty? That was all she meant. Stark’s eyes narrowed, and she knew she had said too much.

Though Peggy was nearly forty, it wasn’t just her looks that hadn’t changed. She truly did still feel like she was in her twenties. She kept waiting for her age to change her. Kept waiting for the moment when she wanted to slow down, when she couldn’t keep up, when she wanted to stop. It never came. Every morning, she woke up feeling exactly the same. Thirty-nine wasn't old, but shouldn't something be different? She could still keep up and she could still show the new recruits a thing or two.

“Ya know? You’re right,” Stark said, the grey hair entirely discarded.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said, trying to cover the moment.

“No, Peggy. I mean it. I don’t know how I never noticed it before.”

“Noticed what?” She was in too deep; she couldn’t bluff her way out of this one. It didn’t stop her from trying.

“You haven’t aged a day.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! It’s makeup and hair dye.” 

“I don’t think it is and I don’t think you do either.”

She hadn’t dared to believe it. Now Stark had named it and she knew he was right. Something had happened to her and, she didn’t just feel something like twenty-five, she was still in her twenties. Twenty-two if she wanted to be precise. She had been twenty-two when she had first met Steve Rogers and when she had first been exposed to the serum.

**

The blonde woman might as well have been holding a sign that read AGENT in bold letter as she leaned nonchalantly towards a bakery window. She was dressed as a tourist, stylish, but big camera and ogling stare included. She blended in well with the scene on a lazy street in Paris; she had been well trained. However, there was something about the way her eyes weren’t looking at the pastries from behind the oversized sunglasses. The woman’s gaze was tracking Peggy. There was the bulge of a weapon at the small of her back, another at her ankle. Then, there was the fact that Peggy had seen her twice in the past two days even though she hadn’t been blonde before.

Peggy adjusted her grocery bag for easier access the gun hidden in her handbag but didn’t react. She too paused to look in a shop window and buy time.

“ _Friend or foe?_ ” she thought.

Peggy had enemies. She had made them in her years at the S.S.R. and even more as the head of S.H.I.E.L.D. She had abdicated the position of director to Nick Fury after decades of service and stepped out of the spotlight. Though, she had remained an asset and a common sight at the organization she had helped build. Fury still called her Director and the other agents whispered about her when she passed. A few more years passed and then, at eighty-five, and still with the same face, the same smooth hands, she had retreated to the shadows. She went somewhere they didn’t know her. She traveled to old places, places with memories.

She was not as forgotten as she had hoped. If it wasn’t an old contact, it was a villain she had put away, and if it wasn’t one of those two options, it was someone who wanted her secret.

Stark had run a battery of tests the day he noticed she hadn’t aged to confirm what Peggy had unconsciously known for a decade. There were trace levels of Dr. Erskine’s serum in her blood. Not enough to register unless someone was looking and looking closely, but enough to have profound effects. Apparently, it took a great deal Vita Radiation to make a super soldier, but it didn’t take much serum to change a person. Emptying the vial of Steve’s blood over the side of a bridge had been for nothing. She was the last sample, the only sample of the serum that had created Captain America in the world. 

It didn’t matter that after sixty years at S.H.I.E.L.D., none of the scientists could recreate it or its effects on Steve or herself. There was a secret that had died with Erskine. People still wanted to take a crack at it, which was fine with Peggy because she would crack their skulls.

Only one way to find out if she was in good company.

She moved casually down the street and entered the bakery for all the world as if that had been her plan all along. She didn’t give the blonde woman a single thought.

The shop smelled like a heaven. The room was filled with glass cases of the finest sweets France had to offer. It was not the first time Peggy had stopped here. Nothing surprised her anymore except the littlest pleasures and she didn’t deny herself.

A bell chimed and a pretty, young woman appeared in a neat black and white uniform. Peggy pulled off her own sunglasses with a smile.

“Bonjour, mademoiselle. Comment puis-je t'aider?” asked the woman. _Hello, miss. How can I help you?_

Peggy ignored being called ‘miss.’

“Six macarons, s'il vous plaît,” said Peggy. _Six macaroons, please._

“Quelles saveurs?” _Which flavors?_ She gestured to the rows upon rows of the colorful treats.

Peggy didn’t care. “Surprends-moi.” _Surprise me._

As if she had been tasked with something of great importance, the woman chose carefully.

“You are the English lady, oui?” said the shopgirl in English with an accent that belonged in a film.

Peggy smiled again. She wasn’t living in a touristy section of the city. Foreigners were a little more unusual in this neighborhood, especially because her French, while not terrible, was far from natural. “Oui,” said Peggy. 

“I will give to you Earl Grey. It is a tea you like at home, oui?”

“Sounds lovely,” she said with an encouraging nod.

Peggy paid, and the woman gave her the bag tied with in a pink ribbon.

“Please come back again,” said the woman.

“Have a good day,” she answered with a wave and left the shop to face the woman tailing her.

As Peggy pulled out one of her macaroons, she searched for the blonde woman again. She had been clever enough to move away from the bakery, but she wasn’t far away. Still playing the tourists, she was now leaning over a bookseller’s table on the opposite side of the street.

It wasn't a busy corner of the city, but it was still Paris, so Peggy was able to blend into a group as they passed her in the pavement. The second she had disappeared from her range of vision, the other woman snapped to attention, abandoning the books. She hustled away in the direction Peggy had been going. 

Peggy wouldn't escape those sharp eyes for long. She cut through an alley to make a wide circle so she could cross the street a full block behind the woman. Peggy followed along at a safe distance that still wouldn't last long. It took ten of these little tricks to lose a tail and if she had been trying to lose the agent she would've kept adding them on. Instead, she picked up her pace and fell into step with the woman.

“Macaroon?” Peggy asked as she held out the bag. “Only not the Earl Grey one.”

The woman jumped, and she didn’t appear to be the kind of person who startled easily. She was a little shorter than Peggy and moved with grace, like a dancer. The blonde was a wig. Even this close, it was still hard to make out her features behind the sunglasses.

“You got the drop on me,” she said in surprise.

“I have had a lot of years of practice. Are you friend or foe?”

“Friend. I hope.”

“In that case, do take a macaroon.” Peggy shook that bag.

The woman considered for a moment as they walked along. She looked Peggy up and down and then reached into the bag.

Peggy gave her time to take a bite before speaking again. “Now, who are you?”

“Agent Romanov of S.H.I.E.L.D. It’s an honor to meet you, Director Carter.”

“You’re not one of mine,” said Peggy. She seemed too experienced to be a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent Peggy didn't recognize. 

“I didn’t train with S.H.I.E.L.D., ma’am.”

“Where then?”

She hesitated. “Russia.”

“Romanov you said? You’re the Black Widow?”

She nodded.

“Well, Natasha—do you mind if I call you that?—you are not the first, hm, graduate of your particular school I have met, but I have heard good things about you. Another macaroon?”

“No thank you, ma’am.”

“Enough of that. Peggy is fine.”

She nodded again.

“If you don’t mind, I would like to see some identification. Just a precaution.”

In a fluid motion, Natasha pulled out a badge from a hidden pocket. Peggy stopped walking to inspect it. She had helped design the badges; it was authentic. She handed it back.

“You haven’t asked why I’m here,” Natasha said.

“I don’t have to. Come along, I have to put my shopping away and you can take that wig off.”

She led the way back to her rented flat. Especially in the late afternoon sun, it was very Parian. It was three floors up on a very skinny staircase with white-washed walls, lavish and comfortable furnishing, built-in bookcases stacked with French literature, prints of classic art hanging in gaudy frames. It was only three rooms. An open common space with living room and kitchen area, a bedroom, and a bathroom. Though Peggy had been here almost three months, she kept it ready for the next renter. She skimmed the surface.

As Peggy unloaded her groceries, Natasha moved around the flat as if she was cataloging the place, and she probably was. Peggy certainly had the first time she had visited.

They were alike, she decided. Agents for most of their lives—Peggy had just a few more years on Natasha, but if one looked it by percentage it wasn’t far off. Women in the male-dominated field and better than any of them. And they both had reputations that well preceded them. 

Natasha pulled off the wig and shook out her red hair. She’d taken off the sunglasses by now too and Peggy saw big blue eyes, high cheek bones. Looks that meant she could distract a man. Another thing they had in common.

Her sweep complete, Natasha stood at the ready and Peggy let her wait.

She took a baguette she’d just bought and cut it into slices. Then, did the same with a block of cheese. She piled it all on a plate and tucked a bottle of wine under her arm.

“Glasses are to the right of the sink.” She stepped out onto a tiny balcony. The outdoor space looked out onto a courtyard instead of the street. Most would have preferred the latter, but she didn’t want to be so exposed. “And the corkscrew is in the drawer below it,” she added loudly as she settled at the table.

There was a longer pause than was strictly necessary before Natasha appeared again. Peggy was already putting together her third bread and cheese. Natasha stayed in the doorway, looking unsure but holding the requested items.

“For Christ’s sake, sit down and open the bottle. We’re safe here,” said Peggy and pulled out the other chair.

“Ma’am—”

“I’m not your superior—I’m a friend. Stop calling me ma’am and sit down.”

Natasha had finally sat down. Peggy took the bottle opener out of Natasha’s hand. She popped the cork and motioned for Natasha to put down the glasses. She obeyed and Peggy filled them with generous pours.

Peggy held up her glass for a toast and Natasha tapped hers against it.

“Stay the evening,” said Peggy. “We’ll drink. Eat good French food. I’ll tell you stories about the old days—”

“I’ve heard a quite a few. Even in Russia, we grew up with stories about you. About what you’ve accomplished. Even though my instructors were on different sides.”

“You don’t seem the type to get star-struck, Agent Romanov,” Peggy said after a generous slip. 

Natasha swallowed and seemed to come back to herself. “I’m not. I’ve met legends before. But, you’re Peggy Carter.”

She caught her own reflection in the glass of the French door. She was ninety-one years old, and she looked thirty at the most. Her hair was still brunette, her skin had no wrinkles, her joints didn’t ache. She wore dark slacks and a loose white blouse. She didn’t bother with the curlers every night anymore, but her hair fell to her shoulder in wide curls. It was a look they called vintage, timeless. She turned away.

“I am aware of that,” Peggy said with finality. 

Natasha picked up on the tone and wisely let the topic go. Biding her time no doubt, just as Peggy would have done if their positions were reversed. More wine would be consumed and Peggy knew her tongue would loosen. She wasn’t even going to stop it. She wasn’t going back, but Natasha deserved to hear the stories, to have all her questions answered.

And that was exactly what happened. They finished the first bottle easily. There was another bottle at the bistro around the corner where they went for dinner and had a polite, guarded conversation. Then, they opened a third when they migrated back to the apartment.

Natasha stretched out on the couch as soon as they were back in the door. Peggy kicked off her shoes and took the armchair, tucking her legs underneath her. They clinked glasses again.

“I’m not usually a wine drinker,” Natasha said.

“But this is France,” said Peggy.

“How long have to be here?”

“About three months.”

“First time?”

“Heavens no. These are very old stomping grounds, but you probably knew that.”

Natasha took a sip of her wine. “Habits,” she said. “I told myself no tricks. Fury said you’d see through them, anyway.”

For all the things Peggy had heard about the Black Widow, Natasha was something different. Not that she couldn’t marry the two personas in her mind, but this Natasha—her guard down, looking at Peggy like a teacher instead of an equal—seemed so young. And she was.

“Life, death, love, war, and ways to manipulate someone—there isn’t much I haven’t seen before. Since,” she pointed at Natasha, “you got me drunk, you can ask your questions, but don’t play games.”

“Why won’t you come back to S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“You certainly aren’t playing games now.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No, it’s not. I didn’t promise I’d have answers.”

A tense silence blanketed the room. They both waited it out, daring the other to speak. Natasha broke first, but only to change the subject. 

“We need music,” she said, already on her feet again and heading for the sound system on one of the bookshelves.

She hit play before Peggy could even say anything. The room filled with the sound of another time, of a smoky bar in another part of Europe fill with G.I.s. A woman’s voice sang a sad song about missing her love.

 _Time waits for no one,_  
_It passes you by._  
_It rolls on forever,_  
_Like the clouds in the sky._

Peggy uncurled from her chair and stopped beside Natasha. She turned down the volume but didn’t skip the song. She had been living her nostalgia for years and she had just enough alcohol to admit it. The serum didn’t affect her ability to get drunk, which she had been grateful for more than once.

She returned to her seat, propped her feet on the coffee table, and covered her eyes with her hand. The grip on her wine glass didn’t loosen. Natasha hadn’t moved at all. 

“I feel as if you have caught me doing something I shouldn’t,” said Peggy, trying to sound casual.

“You can listen to whatever you like,” Natasha said.

“Yes, but this won’t convince you I’ve moved on from that life.”

“I didn’t believe that you had. I didn’t think you could walk away,” Natasha said.

“Seventy-odd years of being that person should be enough. I’m tired of looking at the world the way I do. I wish I didn’t look for an exit first. I wish I didn’t have habits leftover from World War II. I’m grateful for your service. It can’t be me anymore. You have to understand. I’m sure you have a very detailed mission, but I don’t care what it is. I’ve put in my time, done my duty. You found me and that’s more than most people can do. You can return to the director and tell him you tried.”

“Not without a real answer.”

Peggy sat up and gave Natasha a sharp look. “Because I’m also tired of losing everyone I have loved because of circumstance or the simple passage of time. I’m the last of a generation.”

The Howling Commandos had all left her; none of them making it to what one would call an old age. Then, Howard had been killed in a car accident with his Maria and left Tony on his own. She and the Jarvises had looked after him as much as he would let anyone look after him. Tony always knew how to reach his Auntie Peggy with just a phone call, but kept that to himself it appeared.

Jarvis had passed next and poor Ana had been lost for awhile. A few years later, she got sick and went to join him. They were buried next to each other. Daniel too with his family around him. Last had been Angie about six years ago. She'd lost her marbles—as she herself put it on her good days—towards the end. Maybe it was Peggy’s face, but nothing could convince her it wasn't still the forties and they weren't living in Howard's penthouse anymore. She had visited at strange hours to avoid Angie’s family. She had the full collection of Angie’s movies when she missed her best friend’s voice. One by one, they had aged and moved on with their lives. Then, one by one, they had all left her behind in another sense. 

“You are not the last,” said Natasha. “Not anymore.”

Peggy got up and moved away. The room felt like it was spinning. She leaned against the doorjamb to steady herself. It was probably the alcohol; it had nothing to do with what Natasha was implying. Nothing.

There had been rumors, but there were always rumors. Someone was always claiming they’d found something. She wasn’t completely out of touch and there had seemed to be validity this time, but she hadn’t reached out, she hadn’t tried to find the truth. 

It was the most incredible story this time. Not only had the plane been found, but they found him alive. Even with her intimate knowledge of the serum’s capabilities, she had never thought he would be alive. The plane had crashed. The sound of static roared in her ears, the sound of a word cut short. Still, it wasn’t a surprise. Nothing surprised her anymore.

She looked back over her shoulder at Natasha. She gave the spy a hard, searching look.

“I told you. You didn’t need to tell me why you were here,” Peggy said.

The room was silent except for the music.

 _So don't let us throw_  
_One sweet moment away_  
_Time waits for no one_  
_Let's make love while we may._

“You knew?” said Natasha.

“Speculation.”

“Fury thought you had to be completely off the grid when you didn’t come back. I was surprised to find you in Paris.”

“I’ve been all over.”

She got up again and went out on the balcony. The night air felt good on her face. She leaned her forearms on the railing and stared down into the little garden in the courtyard. She could see into the windows of the other flats in the building. 

She didn’t mean to spy on them, but she had got to know them in her own way over the months. They led these normal lives. Husbands, wives, lovers, roommates, children, coming and going from work, school, the market. These were all just motions for her. She was just out of reach. She could perform the tasks, but it didn’t stop her from being completely different. 

Once, she had wanted to be with Steve Rogers. She had wanted to marry him, be the mother of his children. Those things had been denied her, and she had—after a time—accepted it and moved on. Yet, she had never settled down. Work had always come first and maybe that was just an excuse for her strangeness. She hadn’t always been alone. Love came and went. She regretted none of her partners and considered almost all of them happy relationships even if they never led to marriage or children. 

A partner would have been nice; a child would have been nice. Even if she had aged normally, she wouldn’t have counted her life unsuccessful because neither thing had happened. She had changed the world; she had saved it on a few occasions and she said that without an ego. So much had been possible because of the way the serum had changed her. Still, there was a part of that desperately wanted to be a grandmother tucked up in bed with photos of her family and her adventures surrounding her. Oh, if she had been that lucky.

“Just be there,” she had told him.

Just be there. Just be there. Just be there. He hadn’t been there. Seventy years and it wasn’t relief or joy that washed over her. Since she certainly hadn’t been injected with the godforsaken serum, he was the only thing anyone could come up with. 

He had denied her the choice, her agency twice in her life. He had gone where she couldn’t follow and it cost her a possible future. He was the source of the serum and denied her another. Perhaps, it wasn’t fair. Perhaps, she would have wanted the opposite if she was a very old woman. But none of it had been her choice, and she blamed him. She missed him.

How many times had she raged against him for being the source of her exposure? How many times had she missed him so much it hurt? How many times had she wondered if they would have grown not-old together? How many times had she told herself she had closed that chapter of her life?

Natasha followed at a careful pace. “You see why you are needed.”

“What could I possibly do? Is he asking for me?” She tried to keep the hope out of her heart.

“I don’t know.”

“Does he know I’m alive?” Peggy said.

“He asked for files on all the Commandos—whether he’s read them or not, I don’t know.”

"He doesn’t even know you’re here, does he?”

“Rogers is having a hard time engaging with the world. Fury thought you might be able to help. You’re a familiar face.”

“Too familiar.” She sighed. “No, I can’t do it.”

Natasha didn’t need to say anything. The look on her face asked why.

Peggy pounded her fist wrought-iron railing. It sent a painful shock up her arm and she didn’t care. “Because it was probably Steve Rogers who did this to me and because I’m petty and because he’s not the one here asking.”

Natasha moved closer and mirrored Peggy’s pose on the railing. She waited.

Peggy was strangely out of breath as if she had just done something strenuous. Her heart raced. Another jazz song faintly drifted outside, but Peggy couldn’t remember the name. 

She sighed, and it wavered. “Have you seen him?”

Natasha shook her head. “No one really has.”

“I can’t fault him for not wanted to engage. I might be running too.”

“He’s not running—he’s hiding. He’s missed seventy years and everything has changed. He didn’t even know the war was over. He needs something...someone.”

Peggy straightened. “Fine. I’ll come with you, but I’m not staying. I’m not signed up again.”

“Talk to Fury about that. I’m only the messenger.”

Peggy nodded and sighed again. “Let’s finish the bottle while I pack.”

She had to pack up the apartment. She wouldn’t be coming back here when this was all over. Even if she knew how long she’d be in New York, this location was burned. She’d been found which always meant moving on. Her life fit into two large suitcases and it could be pared down into a carry-on in a pinch. Since there was no danger, she’d pack everything and leave just what she didn’t need for this mission in a storage facility near the airport. When this was all over, she would come back to France for the rest and then disappear again until the next time she was absolutely needed. 

She led the way back inside. The music was still playing. 

“I have one question,” said Natasha after making sure they both had their wine glasses again. “Did you really face Dottie Underwood? Well, you would’ve known her as Dottie Underwood.”

“Yes, a few times. Pushed her out a window once.”

“You really are the best.”

“Oh please.”


	2. Reunions

"Is this okay?" asked Pepper Potts as she opened the door to a guest suite for Peggy.

Given Peggy had arrived at Stark Tower completely unannounced after over five years of radio silence, it was more than okay. The building was still under construction but what she would call the living quarters were finished beautifully. It was a large room with a sitting area and a desk. The bed was in an alcove separated by a pair of French doors with frosted glass. The bathroom was big enough for a shower and a tub the size of a swimming pool. Clearly aimed at accommodating and impressing business professionals.

"Of course," Peggy said as she set down her luggage. "It's beautiful."

She would've stayed anywhere they could put her up. It kept her from taking anything else from S.H.I.E.L.D. They had safe houses all over the city she could easily have used; Natasha had offered. The private jet back to the States was more than enough. The slip of paper tucked in her pocket Natasha had given her with the address of where Steve was hiding out was enough.

She could feel Pepper watching her as she moved around inspecting the room. It was exactly what Natasha had done in the apartment only about twenty-four hours ago. She pulled the curtain shut, blocking the view out and the view in.

"Do you need to get settled? Are you hungry? Jarvis, the menu options please," Pepper said.

The disembodied voice modeled after one of Peggy's dearest friends answered Pepper's request. "Good evening, Ms. Carter. Tonight we have—"

"Thank you, Jarvis. I'm quite alright."

"As you wish, Ms. Carter. Please let me know if there is anything else."

"You can call me Peggy."

"Yes, Ms. Carter."

The real Jarvis hadn't listened either.

Peggy faced Pepper again, accessing her in a new light. She was no longer Tony's assistant but, from what Natasha had said, running Stark Industry and in a relationship with him too. Peggy had always had a fondness for Pepper because anyone who could go toe to toe with a Stark and come out on top had strong character. Still, she couldn't help looking Pepper up and down with a protective eye. Could anyone be good enough for Tony? Pepper looked back with earnest concern and Peggy decided she liked the match. Perhaps, always had.

"Well, get unpacked and I'll go tell Tony you're here," Pepper said. "I tried to call him while security was bringing you up, but he's in his lab and you know how he is."

"I do know how he is," she said with a grin and Pepper shook her head. "I think I'll surprise him."

A shower to wash the day's travel off sounded tempting, but she wanted to get the first reunion over with.

"Just take the elevator down. Your code should still work if you remember it." Pepper looked at Peggy for confirmation and Peggy nodded; she didn't have a problem remembering anything. "I have a few business things to finish up and I'm sure you have a lot of catching up to do—a lot of important things to talk about."

"You know why I'm here," Peggy said as Pepper led the way back into the hallway to the bank of elevators.

"I know nothing about anything," said Pepper, convincing no one.

"Of course not."

"I might be aware of a certain consultation Tony did for a certain organization you started that I also know nothing about. I also know nothing about the connection you and Tony's father had to the individual in question."

"Hm, I see."

She reached out and brushed her fingertips against Peggy's elbow, her best attempt at respecting Peggy's personal space. "Are you okay?"

Peggy nodded and smiled. She didn't actually have an answer to that question. She hadn't processed that she would be seeing Steve Rogers again. She hadn't processed coming back to this life, to being Director Carter again. As much as she was looking forward to seeing Tony again, she didn't know what to expect. A lot had changed since she had left—for him at least.

"Well, you let me or Jarvis know if you need anything," Pepper said.

The lift going down opened and Peggy was spared having to say anything but, "Thank you."

She heard blasting rock music as soon as she step off and she followed it to the lab. It was set up like the one in California. A long line of glass windows gave her a view before she entered. She had once read a puff piece about Howard that described his workstation as 'ordered chaos.' Tony's was chaotic chaos. If not for Jarvis and his cataloging system, she was sure Tony would never find anything including the door. In just a quick glance, she saw a dozen work benches, tools, parts incomplete projects stacked on every surface. Waiting in the one open area was the Iron Man suit. It stood upright with its arms outstretched forming a T. It glared at her and she found herself frowning back.

Tony was at one of the stations in almost the same place where she'd left him. She had said goodbye in California and his T-shirt had been a different color. But, he was always bent over some workbench in some lab. His face hidden under a welder's mask.

She entered her code into the security system and it unlocked as Pepper said it would. Peggy pushed through the door and he didn't even look up.

"Jarvis, lower the music, please," Peggy yelled over the volume. She fought the urge to cover her ears.

"Lowering the volume," said Jarvis and the music blissfully softened to almost nothing.

"Who the hell told you to turn that down?" said Tony. He had to yell to be heard through the mask but didn't stop working. Sparks danced in front of him.

"Quite apart from the auditory nerve damage you are likely inflicting upon yourself," said Jarvis, "you have a visitor."

"Hello, Tony," Peggy said.

His head jerked up, and she saw herself reflected in the dark eyes of the mask until he pushed it up onto his forehead.

"Peggy!" he said. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Is that any way to greet your auntie?" she said with a smile.

He had outgrown calling her that about thirty years ago and he looked older than her, anyway. He looked like Howard. She saw some of the best of Howard's traits in the only person she had left to consider family. She knew the two had had a complicated relationship, even though Tony lost his father at such a young age. She had as good as begged Howard to be a better father, to just go home and she regretted not doing more. 

Tony tossed the mask aside completely, cleared the space between them, and engulfed her in a hug. He smelled of copper and something a little singed.

"That's better," she said when he let go. "You look well."

He had been rescued from Afghanistan only days before she had seen him last so that really wasn't saying much. She had been lead on the search for him, fully coming out of retirement to look. His return had been too public an affair for her to be there. Afterward, they had called her in to talk some sense into him when he announced the changes in Stark Industry's direction and she had done the opposite. She had been proud of him. It hadn't been their official goodbye, but it was the last time she saw him in person before she left.

He tapped his chest, and she heard the clink of metal. "Doing its job."

"And more than that I hear."

"You always knew everything," he said and flashed her a boyish grin.

"I only had to pick up a newspaper. Why does everyone think I was living in a cave?"

"Because no one knew where you were."

She sighed. "I suppose that was the point. I didn't really mean to be gone so long."

"What's five years to you?"

She moved away and perched on a stool, smoothing her skirt and crossing her legs. "It's a lot to the people I left behind."

"I had my hotline. It's not like I called you."

She gave him a sad smile. At Howard and Maria's funeral, Peggy had given Tony a card with her private number.

"Whoever picks up this phone will either be me or will know how to get a message to me. Any time you need anything, darling, you call me."

"The Aunt Peggy hotline?" he had asked like a smartass.

But she had hugged him, choosing to take his words at face value. "Yes, just like that."

"I'm glad you didn't give Fury my number," Peggy said, bringing herself back to the present.

"I wouldn't dare, and he did ask if I knew how to contact you."

"You're a good boy, Tony. I don't care what everyone else says."

He pulled a face of utter horror. "Who says what? Who's been talking about me?"

They grinned at each other. She had missed him.

"Agent Romanov may have mentioned something her time as your assistant," Peggy said.

He pointed a screwdriver at her, suddenly serious. "I don't trust her."

"I can understand why. I, however, like her."

"Spies," he muttered.

They were quiet for a moment as he put away the welding torch. She smoothed out her skirt again.

"I know you know why I'm here," Peggy said with his focus still elsewhere.

"Yeah," he said. "I know. They needed an engineer to wake him up. Thawed him like a turkey."

"Tony."

"What?"

"Be nice."

"Is Capsicle better?"

"Tony, please." She wasn't smiling. Her heart was racing again. "This isn't a game."

He actually listened. "Okay, sorry, Peg. I know I shouldn't joke—I can't imagine what this is like for you."

"Very surreal, but so is my life." She pushed a lock of her brown hair off her shoulder and out of her line of sight.

"You don't seem excited."

"I'm glad I get a chance to see you, but I don't want to be here."

"You don't think he'll be happy to see you?"

"That was not the impression I gathered from Agent Romanov."

All of Tony's focus seemed to be on the clearing up. Probably the most attention he had ever given the task. "Dad seemed to think you loved him," he said.

She sighed and studied her red fingernails. "I did, but I don't know what to think anymore. There seems to be an expectation we will pick up exactly where we left off. I might look the same, but everything is different. The world is different and I've changed a thousand times. Nothing can erase seventy years."

"Hasn't been that long for him."

"Well, I've lived through every one of those days. I didn't get to close my eyes."

They went quiet again. Tony had stopped moving around and Peggy could only inspect her manicure for so long. She glanced up, and he was watching her with a look she couldn't read. It was parts wonder, parts pity, and parts sadness. Tony had attempted to cure her of the serum's effects. He had said nothing out loud, but she knew he thought he had failed and that if he couldn't do it no one could.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

"Spend the evening with my nephew and his girlfriend—I'll drag Captain America out of hiding tomorrow."

**

Of course, Peggy wasn't able to wait that long.

Despite the jetlag and two long days in a row, she couldn't sleep in the city that held Steve Rogers. She couldn't stay away. It was why she hadn't reached out to S.H.I.E.L.D. to confirm the most believable rumors in seven decades. She hadn't wanted to know. No matter what she had said to Natasha, it had been inevitable she would return to New York once she knew the truth. She had to see him and, when she found herself alone for the first time, it became unbearable, like a rope tied to her heart and pulling, pulling, pulling.

She had to see him.

It was just past eleven when she left Stark Tower. The night had turned cold and windy. She turned up the collar of her trench coat and buried her hands in the pockets. She walked the short block to Grand Central and caught the subway into Brooklyn. There were others on the train, but like most good New Yorkers everyone pretended they were the only person left in the world.

The farther away from the subway she walked, the more alone she actually became. She moved towards the river and away from the Brooklyn Bridge and its many parks, piers, and well-lit areas. The buildings around her grew larger without growing taller as she entered a small warehouse district. She wasn't afraid. Her senses were alert, and she knew she was alone. Even if she wasn't, there was the pistol in her handbag and many decades of muscle memory.

At last, she stopped in front of one particular building only distinguishable from the others by a sign that read 'Ray's Boxing Club.' She stared up as it swung. She knew he was here. Lights showed in the line of small windows just under the eaves of the roof. The rest of the area was practically abandoned this time of night. There would be no one else inside.

She wondered how he found this place and whether he was really living here. Natasha said this was where she was most likely to find him. Did he have anywhere else to go? S.H.I.E.L.D. would have provided housing and anything else he needed. They had protocols for defectors, or people with new powers, or anyone who needed to start over. Had he shied away from help just as she had?

There was only one way to get answers to those questions and a million more, but she couldn't make herself move. Her hands stayed in her pockets instead of reaching out for the door handle. Her feet stayed rooted to the spot. If it hadn't been such a chilly night, she might have stayed there until dawn and then gone back uptown to let the others think she slept through the night. The wind had already found its way into every opening of her jacket and her teeth were chattering.

She remembered another cold night. This one in Russia and ten times colder. A blizzard had kicked up, and they still had been an hour's hike away from the rendezvous. She had kept them on course and Steve had kept her from freezing to death. He had been so focused on her he would've led them straight over a cliff. Add it to the list of times they had saved each other.

Saving people was a tireless, endless, thankless job. She had done it for more than her fair share of years. She had tried to pass it onto the next generation. And yet, here she was being asked to save to someone again. Someone who wasn't even asking to be saved. If he had asked, it would be different. If he had called, if he had reached out, nothing would have stopped her. But he hadn't asked. Fury had sent a spy to ferret her out and drag her back.

"Peggy, this is my choice," he had told her.

There might have been time. He could have got her the coordinates. He wouldn't have waited; he was too stubborn. That had been his choice, not hers. Neither of them had a choice anymore. The world had needed him then and it could use him again. If she was a catalyst, then she would do her duty as she always had. This wasn't personal; she was just a familiar face.

" _Get a move on, you old bag_ ," she told herself silently as she squared her shoulders, and finally pushed the door open.

Peggy understood why he was drawn to the place. It was like stepping back in time. She had never been here before and it all felt familiar. It was the warm wood floors, dim lighting, faded black and white pictures on the walls, dust in the air, and the scent of sweat, must, and leather oil. It was like an army barrack. He retreated to the last thing he remembered, and she learned her heart could get a little heavier.

She kept moving forward with purpose because, if she stopped, there was a chance she would never start again. Her heart pounded so hard against her chest it hurt. Her lung seemed to be working at less than optimum. Her cheeks were hot. She would say she was feeling faint if she had ever fainted before.

She saw something else before she found him. Before she rounded the corner of a boxing ring with sagging ropes, she spotted the shield. Scraped, damaged from real combat. She'd been there for most of those marks and inflicted a few herself. It was just propped against the base of the ring as if left after a mission. He was forever losing the thing, leaving it behind in the most inconvenient places. They would be walking across the base or campsite and he'd make an about face. If they weren't on a mission and it wasn't on his back or in his hands, he couldn't keep track of it.

"Good thing your head is attached!" Dugan would yell after him.

She reached out to run her fingers along the edge of the cool metal. It shifted under her touch. It was solid; it had weight. The shield—for which she had named the organization—had disappeared with its owner. She hadn't really believed it until now. The rumors, what Natasha said, what Tony knew, that she was back in New York at all, it had all been a joke, one giant, cosmic joke. She couldn't deny it anymore. This above all less made it real. This was physical.

She heard footsteps and tore her eyes away from the shield. The man was standing in front of her. Almost seven decades and he was here in the same room. She had last seen him in his uniform battered and covered in ash from the firefight. She had last kissed him goodbye and watched him jump for that plane. Yet, he stood in front of her. He wore tan pants and a white t-shirt stretched over his chiseled body. He hadn't aged either. Like her, he had been frozen in time—in the more literal sense. His skin glistened from his workout and his chest heaved as he caught his breath. He slowly unwrapped the protective tape from around his knuckles.

"Steve," she said and tears threatened even as a little smile played on her lips. She had last called his name knowing she wouldn't get an answer.

"I thought you were someone else," he said.

Peggy blinked and the wonder and amazement vanished. There was very few people in the world who knew what an idiot Captain America really was and she was one of them.

She threw up her arms. "Bloody Nora! That's what you say? Seventy years apart and the first thing you say is 'I thought you were someone else.'"

He looked panicked. "What am I supposed to say?"

"Maybe hello? Good to see. God, anything but I was hoping you were someone else."

"I didn't say that! Fury is the only one who comes here—I thought it was him."

"Even better. And still nothing about seeing your long lost love again. This was a mistake." She turned to go. "I shouldn't have come here."

"Don't," he said. "Don't go."

Against her better judgment, she took only one more step and faced him.

"Peggy," he said so she barely heard him. "Look at you."

She nearly blushed with self-consciousness. She hadn't let herself be look in such a way in years. She went places where no one knew. They were places from her past but everyone connected to them was gone. As far as anyone knew, she was a traveler in her twenties. The looks from people she passed didn't dive deep. They skimmed the surface like she had. Natasha's awestruck gaze had come closest, but that had been because of her work; Natasha had known what she would see when she found Peggy.

This was different. Steve had always seen her in ways others hadn't and now he stared intently. He saw every inch of her and he knew every inch of her. It wasn't discovering something new, it was seeing something familiar. He seemed to devour her. His eyes were hungry for anything they recognized. This world was new to him while she knew it too well.

"Not what you were expecting?" she asked.

"When I woke up and found out how many years had passed, I thought everyone I knew was dead. They told me everyone except you. They didn't say any more than that. Fury gave me the files and I read through every one. Yours mentioned serum exposure and then just in parentheses the word anti-aging. I didn't understand what that meant. How could I?"

She waited for him to keep speaking. She didn't have a response yet.

"You can't understand something like that until you see it." He took a few steps closer. "You look exactly the same."

"Exactly?"

He moved a little closer. "You were wearing a coat like that when you found me in the bombed out bar after—after Bucky died. It could still be that day."

"No, it couldn't. Don't you dare think that. That erases every good day and every heartbreak I've had since you disappeared." She repeated the words she had said to Tony. "I've lived through it all. I didn't get to close my eyes. Don't belittle what I've been through."

"I didn't mean to." 

He took another step, and she held out her hand to stop him from coming any closer. He took her hand, entwining his fingers between hers. The contact was like electricity, like a current between them. He was solid, too.

She looked up to meet his gaze. She didn't want to admit it; she tried to keep herself from saying it out loud. The truth was, of course, she did want to be here. The place in her heart had never really healed. She had learned to live with the way one does when someone dies suddenly. Every day had still been a day without him no matter how many years passed. 

She reached up to brush her fingers down the side of his cheek and along his jawline. "I missed you," she said.

"I missed you too."

She kissed him. As hungry as he was for something familiar, she was as hungry for the physical contact. His grip tightened between her fingers until it almost hurt. It was a reminder they were both alive. Their lips overlapped, his rough, hers smooth. His tongue traced along her teeth. Her mind had gone all but blank. Nothing mattered behind the taste of him and the feel of the heat radiating from his body.

They let go of each other's' hands so they could both scrabble at the buttons of her coat. It fell to the floor abandoned. He lifted her up, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He carried her until they collided into the wall. Slowly, he released her legs until she was on her own two feet, but he kept her pinned, holding with his body weight. He grabbed her wrist, raised it above her head, and pressed that to the wall, too. The wind was knocked out of her with the force and she pulled back to breathe. He didn’t stop; he kissed her chin, her jaw, and then slid down her throat. It wasn't his strength that kept her out of breath.

Her clothes were already crumpled mess. With his free hand, he tugged at her blouse, untucking it from her skirt and pulling it up. And she realized what he would find: scars and her modern brassiere. Both were reminders. Both pulled her out of past.

"Steve," she said and her voice came out a whisper, a moan of pleasure. She had to try again; this had been a mistake. "Steve. We can't."

The fingers around her wrist tightened again.

"I'm saying no," she said with more power than she thought she could muster given this wasn't what she really wanted.

His pulled back but didn't release her entirely. They were both out of breath and she felt his against her neck. They stayed that way until she freed her arm, slipping out of grasp. She walked a few paces away and fixed her skirt, straightening it, pulling it back down, smoothing out the wrinkles. When she turned back to face him, he was yanking at his belt, trying to adjust where his bulge threatened to burst the seams of his trousers. That caused a strange satisfaction. 

"What are you imaging, Rogers?" she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "Where does this lead? A little apartment in Brooklyn? Marriage? Children?"

He didn't hesitate. He didn't even pause. "Yes, that's exactly what I'm picturing. James for a boy. If I get to name a son after Bucky, you can have naming rights for a girl or the second one."

"Steve, I swear." She covered her eyes for a moment before dropping her arm to her side again.

"It was my plan all along. I was gonna ask to marry me after the war was over. We can still have that. God, we can just be normal people—"

"We are not normal and this is not a reunion story," she said and she couldn't keep ice out of her tone. He was so foolish.

"Damn it, Carter. Then, what is this?"

"It's a wake-up call. Do your duty. I've done mine for seventy years—it's your turn. Get your arse in gear, soldier."

"Weren't you the one who told me not to be their pet?"

"There's wearing tights and there's doing what only you can do. Stop hiding. Stop sulking over what happened you by your own choice."

"This wasn't my choice!" he roared.

The room seemed to shake, but maybe she imagined it. She didn't let her emotions meet his; she gave him a cool look. "You stepped into that pod. You jumped for the plane. You crashed the bloody thing. You, Rogers. You!" Okay, maybe she couldn't control herself that well. "Perhaps you didn't fully understand the consequences, but you chose. I had no say. I never asked to be made into a super soldier. This was done to me!" She had completely lost control. "Done to me by you!"

His mouth fell open a little. "Peggy, I…I didn't mean for any of this."

"Of course, you didn't," she said, but it was derisive. "Your intentions, however, have minimal impact. It still happened—every day for the past seventy years still happened."

"Stop saying that."

"What?"

"Seventy years."

"Sixty-six? It that better?" she said and put her hands on her hips. She wouldn't mollycoddle him.

"You're not being fair. I've lost something here too."

"But you didn't have to."

"What does that mean? I had to get on that plane—I had to stop it."

"There was time. We could have rescued you if you weren't always so dramatic. The coordinates would have been a place to start. You could've narrowed it down from an entire ocean. But no, you had to make the noble sacrifice and go down."

"This isn't about the serum, is it?" he asked.

She realized it at the same time he did. Her bottom lip trembled. Why did she always have to cry when she was upset? "You left me, Steve. You left me alone with this never ending life."

In his clumsy way, he pulled her close into a tight hug. With fists, she tried to push him away and gave up almost at once. She hadn't pined for him. Really she hadn't. She had given herself time to mourn, and she moved on. She had had other love in her life and she had built an organization that saved the world. Time moved differently for her and that was why she had never settled. And his embrace still felt like home. 

"Peggy, I'm so sorry," he said. 

"I have watched every person I love but one die. It hurts too much," she said in a choked voice. "I can't do it anymore."

"I didn't mean to leave you and I'm back now."

She pulled away so she could see his face. He wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of his hand. She closed her eyes and kiss him again. Slow, gentle, the opposite sort of kiss then they had shared already tonight.

"Can you promise me I won't lose you again?" she said.


	3. Frame of Reference

The beeping noise from downstairs roused Steve from his dozing. He wouldn’t go so far to call it sleeping, especially since he hadn't really done much of it since he got back. It definitely would not happen on the lumpy love seat in the office. He'd given Peggy the camp bed next to the desk. At least she had slept soundly, dead to the world, but she had always been that way. If you could get her to lie down, she went out and God help whoever had to wake her for her watch. 

He had laid in the dark with his legs hanging over the arm of the sofa and listened to her breathing, unable to keep his thoughts out of the past. She had been just an outline until the sun had come up. The office was on the second floor of the boxing gym he had been haunting. Windows on both sides had a view to the outside and to the entire facility. 

As light had filled the room, he had read every part of her he could see. He had watched her sleep under the guise of keeping her safe during the war. She still looked the same, balled on her side with the rough blanket tucked under her chin. It was the only time her face was relaxed and expressionless. Her hair fanned out the hard pillow. It was longer though, and she didn’t seem to curl it. Women didn’t seem to do that anymore. He had never seen it natural before. Even on missions, she had found a way to keep a few pins on hand. 

She had been right about one thing. He had to stop pretending things hadn’t changed. It wasn’t the war anymore. It wasn’t even the same century anymore. He missed it. He didn’t want to know about the fancy technology that made life so much better. He wanted to go back to a simpler time when black and white were easy and things didn’t make so much noise. He knew it wasn’t possible; the beeping sound was proof enough. 

He got up, and the floors creaked, making him think it wasn't the best construction job. He walked on tiptoes to the door and then down the stairs. The room shook on its spindly supports if he moved too fast. She didn't stir, though.

His enhanced hearing found the source of the sound quickly. He picked up Peggy’s neglected coat from the floor and draped it over his arm, brushing it off. He fished the device out of the pocket. Part of him still thought the things were dangerous, but Fury promised him it was just a wireless phone. Steve had one stashed away from the welcome-to-the-future kit S.H.I.E.L.D. had given him, but he hadn't turned it on. He pressed the only button on the face of Peggy’s phone. The screen lit up and told him there were three missed calls. It was the same number, but it had no name. Someone was trying to get in touch with her. 

Maybe he should wake her. 

He retrieved her large purse too before going back to the office. He hadn't been quiet enough. She was awake when he slipped back inside. She blinked sleepily up at him. 

“Morning,” he said quietly and dropped back onto the sofa. 

She sat up and the blanket fell away. She stretched her arms out in front of her before letting them drop into her lap. The top buttons on her shirt had come undone and the fabric had slipped sideways, revealing her smooth, pale shoulder. 

“What time is it?” she asked. Her voice was husky with sleep. 

“About eleven.” 

“Goodness,” she cleared her throat, “jet lag got the better of me.” 

“Jet lag?” 

“I was in Paris.” 

She stretched again while piling her hair on top her head and letting it go. It tumbled over her shoulder, hiding patch of skin he had been looking at. 

“Where did you go?” she asked. 

He tossed the phone onto the bed. “This thing was making noise.” 

“It’s a phone, Rogers,” she said as she picked it up and tapped on it with expert fingers. 

She pushed the blanket off her legs and slipped her feet back into her shoes, the only thing she had removed before crashing. Nothing had happened last night—nothing beyond those kisses and a few sharp words. She had asked a question he didn’t have an answer to. 

_"Can you promise me I won't lose you again?"_

He had been scared to find her, scared of facing the one of the few people who had seen him when he was too small to notice. She had said a lot last night for him to think about.

Not only had it shaken him, but it had also killed the mood. 

It didn’t take him long after that for him to realize she was dead on her feet. He led her to the office, and she hadn’t even argued about taking the bed. 

Peggy stepped onto the little landing outside the office and she closed the door behind her. It made no difference to him. Through the window, he saw her noticed the buttons and fixed them as she put the phone to her ear. 

“Good morning,” she said. Pause. “Of course, I’m alright. Oh darling, did I worry you?” Pause. “No, I couldn’t wait any longer.” Pause. “Stop it. Tony, I mean it.” She laughed. “Well, Jarvis is a gossip. It’s none of his business what time I left.” Pause. “I wouldn’t go without saying goodbye. I promise.” Pause. “Yes, but I’m not sure when.” Pause. “Alright, darling, I’ll talk to you later.” 

She came back into the office. There was half a smile on her face when she caught him watching her. 

“Everything alright?” he asked. 

“Don’t pretend you couldn’t hear all that.” 

So he didn't. “That wasn't Tony Stark?” 

She leaned on the edge of the desk. “It was, in fact. I’m staying with him.” 

“What’s he like?” 

“As you would expect. Rather uncontrollable, but a good man. Not everyone’s cup of tea—I’ll admit—but he’s family.” She shrugged. 

“Huh.” Family. It was a strong word. He hadn’t considered that she might keep in touch with the Stark he’d known. He wondered what happened to Howard. His file hadn’t been among the one Steve had read. 

“Did you sleep?” she asked abruptly. 

“Not really.” He rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Have you slept since you got back or do you stay up all night hitting things?” 

“The second one.” 

“I've been known to do the same.” She closed one eye, took aim with her dukes up, and mimed hitting him square in the jaw. 

He was too far away for her to even each, but he pretended she got in a good hit. He turned his head and covered the cheek as if it hurt. 

They both laughed. God, he'd missed her. In his mind, it had only been a few weeks since he'd last seen her, but one minute apart was too much. 

“I could use a workout,” she said. “Might as well take advantage of having the place to ourselves.” 

“You’re not exactly dressed for it.” 

“Since when has that stopped me?” She was already heading for the door again. 

As usual, he had no choice but to follow. She was trying to convince him she’d changed, but he hadn't really seen it yet. 

He loped after her as she descended the stairs and moved around the boxing ring. The punching bag he’d been using the night was waiting. As she walked, she pulled her hair back a knot at her neck. She kicked off her shoes again, and each one skidded against the wall. 

“Ready?” she asked. She held up her fists again and there was a smile on her face. 

He shook his head but braced the bag anyway. 

The first hit was harder than he was expecting. It jarred his body. He wasn’t questioning of her ability or strength, but the commitment was a surprise. She wasn’t messing around. She was going for every hit even in her wrinkled blouse and skirt, and her bare feet. 

He adjusted his weight again so he was supporting the bag. She met the gesture with a powerful kick. He grunted, and she grinned for a moment, but it vanished quickly. 

“I said some things last night,” she said in between punches. “I’m sorry. That wasn't exactly how I want to broach the topic.” 

“You were honest—I can’t blame you.” 

Another kick. Another few punches. 

“Yes, but I've had a lot of time to wonder what I might say to you and that wasn’t it.” 

“There were things I should've said. Mainly, make it clear how sorry I am.” 

She was starting to get out of breath. “I know.” 

“Can we start over?” he asked. His heart raced and his mouth went dry. He'd never proposed to anyone before but he could guess this is what it felt like. Minus the rattling sensation from her every jab. “I’m trying to remember I can’t expect everything to be the same, but we can build something new, can't we?" 

She stopped hitting the bag and put a hand up to keep it from swinging. She didn’t shy away from his stare. Every once and a while, she seemed so small when she had to tilt her head upwards to look him in the eye. He still expected her to be taller than him. 

“Steve, I don't know. I'm not staying,” she said. 

“Back to Paris?” 

She walked away to get her shoes. “Maybe.” 

“I could come with you. Really start over.”

“You are needed here,” she said softly, and she wasn’t looking at him anymore. 

“But you get to go?” 

“S.H.I.E.L.D. was always meant to outlive me.” 

He frowned. She came back to where he was still standing against the punching bag and answered his confusion without having to be asked. 

“I founded it,” she said. “Howard and Phillips and I. You didn't know?” 

He shook his head. “Fury gave me a stack of things, but I didn't read much expect the personnel files. I knew you were the director.” 

“I see what Agent Romanov meant.”

His frown came back. “About what?” 

“About you not engaging with the world,” Peggy said and walked back to the stairs. She added something about freshening up as she went. 

He didn’t answer or follow. So, that was why she was here. She had been giving him mixed signals, and this was why. She had been sent. Fury or someone thought he needed a friend and he wasn’t letting anyone else in. She was the only person left who he knew. She didn’t want to be here. And she was right about another thing. It was his fault. No one to blame but himself. He stepped into that pod; he jumped; he had shown her she couldn’t count on him to keep his promises. He had said he’d be there. A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club. Eight o'clock on the dot. He hadn’t shown. 

His fist slammed into the bag. Again and again and again, momentum building with each swing. Harder and harder until pop. The bag detached and soared across the room. 

His chest heaved as he stared at the destruction. 

“Hey,” came Peggy’s voice, smoothing even from where she stood. She had things with her. “What happened?” 

“You have to face the facts sometimes, don’t you?” 

He had let everyone down, especially the people he cared most about. Everyone was gone except for Peggy and she didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve her. 

“Generally, a good policy,” she said and moved a little closer. 

She was radiant. She'd slept in her clothes on a camp bed and somehow managed to make herself looked put together and ready for the day in a few minutes. Her calming gaze, her wise words, how had he ever make it without her? But he wouldn’t force her. 

“You can go if you want to,” Steve said. 

“Well, I was going to suggest we get some breakfast, but if you’d rather I left…” 

“I mean you can leave New York. You shouldn’t be dancing for them either.” 

She opened her mouth to speak, let out a breath, and closed it again. She tried again. “I’m always more transparent than I think.” 

“Only when you’re being Peggy.” He sighed. “Agent—I mean Director Carter is someone very different.” 

She half smiled. “You know me too well.” 

“There are things I couldn’t forget if I was frozen for seven hundred years.”

She came even closer, and he didn't know what she was going to do. He tried to keep his breathing steady. Carefully, she reached up and pushed a lock of hair away from his forehead. She was staring at him, searching his face. 

“I know what you mean,” she said. Her voice low. “The others...it can be hard to picture them sometimes. Even someone like my brother seems to fade. Somehow, I never forgot your face.”

Her hand dropped to her side, but she stayed close to him. 

“You have a brother?” he asked. There was so much he didn’t know about her. They never had time to fill in the details. 

“I did. A long, long time ago.” 

She was barely a foot away and he recognized the look on her face. He had seen it the day he returned to camp with 107th in tow. He had carried the busted radio all that way just to prove a point. She had studied with the same focus. The rest of the crowd melted away and it was only the two of them standing in the entire world. The same feeling crept up now even though they really were alone. More alone than any two people could be. They lived under the most extraordinary of circumstances. 

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to scoop her up and hold her tightly until everything she had been through—everything he had put her through was a distant memory. Then, he realized that was the problem. 

She spoke again before he decided what to do. “I had my reservations about returning—about seeing you again. It conflicted with how I had been living. I didn’t mean to sound so bitter last night. I don’t blame you. Not really anyway. It was easy to push it off on you when you were dead, but I know that isn’t fair or true. No one forced me to come back. There was some nudging, but I didn’t have to come.” 

“But you don’t want to stay.” He wasn’t asking a question. 

“Today, I want to spend time with you. Tomorrow is a completely different day.” 

“You mean you don’t have a plan?” 

“None at all.” 

“That’s a first.” 

“I have done little planning in the past decade.” 

He was genuinely surprised by that. “Really?” 

“What’s the point? Nothing works out the way you think it will.” She tried to smile to say, ‘Oh well, that’s the way it is.’ She put on such a brave face and smiled through it all. He saw the sadness through the crack, the chink her armor. 

His shoulders sank. “Peggy, I—”

She shook her head, and he stopped. He didn't even know what he was going to say. 

“It’s not fair, isn’t it?” he asked. 

She put her hands on her hips. “If you didn’t learn that the day the war started, I can’t help you.” 

He laughed at the dark comedy of it all. It was a sick joke. 

She rolled her eyes at him. “I'm starved. Come on.” 

He really hadn't left the gym much. The guy who seemed part of the corner store what the only civilian he had contact with so far and he must’ve seen too much working at a twenty-four-hour place in an odd corner of the city to care. 

“I don't know,” said Steve. “The place on the corner has worked so far.” 

“You need to leave here,” she said in her I'm-in-charge tone. “That's non-negotiable. I know you must have an apartment somewhere. Take me there and I'll run out for bagels if you don't want to talk to anyone.” 

He nodded, still powerless when she talked that way. 

“Do you have a jacket? It's chilly out.” 

“How do you know that?”

“I get the weather on my phone. Move it, soldier,” she ordered. 

He groaned and headed for the locker room. 

When he was ready, they started off in the direction of the apartment. It was a nice day, but Peggy had been right about it being chilly. He wondered _how_ she got the weather on her phone. He also realized Fury’s plan to get him ’engage’ was working already. He was outside in the daylight and curious about the world’s latest technology for the first time. He wasn't ready to let her know that so he kept did mouth shut as they walked. 

He also wasn't to let her see how nervous he was. They walked boldly down the sidewalk towards people. They would have to go through Brooklyn Bridge Park to get to the apartment. He avoided that area like the plague. He dreaded being recognized. The prospect knotted his stomach into a tight ball. 

There had been a steep learning curve about where he felt like he could go. Brooklyn was so different. Add it to the list. 

The sidewalk was already dotted the with people. At least it was a weekday. 

“Have you found a bagel place yet?” Peggy asked. 

He shrugged. “Wherever.” 

“I thought the first thing a New Yorker did when they moved was find their coffee and bagel place.” 

“I know don't if I'd call this moving.” It came out a little harder than he meant and she went quiet. 

They had always been comfortable in their silences. It had been part exhaustion and part being at ease with each other. There was no need to talk, no need to fill the space. This was different. It was awkward with a space felt like a chasm. She was trying, and he shut her down. 

“I think there's a place a block away from the apartment,” he said as a peace offering. “I don't know if it's any good but…”

“Perfect,” she said with a smile. All was forgiven. 

They lapsed into silence again. He needed to say something. Anything. 

"How was Paris?" he asked and congratulated himself. That was a safe topic. 

"The city of romance is much as you might remember. With fewer signs of war, however." 

Not such a safe topic. Did it always lead back to the fight? 

"It's all been rebuilt of course," she continued. "It's such a vibrant place. The food, the art, the people." 

"What were you doing there?" 

"Not much. I was taking an art history class and generally just being unproductive." 

"Not on an assignment?" 

"Goodness no. I don't do that anymore. I let Fury take over a dozen years ago and I've been, well, out of touch for a few years." 

That didn't sound like the Peggy he knew. He had sort of assumed she had been overseas for some kind of purpose. He didn't know she could operate without a mission. It all seemed aimless. 

"You look surprised," she said. 

"I guess I am a little. Doesn't that get boring?" 

"When it does, I move to a new city or find a job. I can't stay in one place for too long in case people realize I'm not aging. Or I make a silly slip about when I was a girl. It's always fun when someone asks how old I am. I doubt you'll have to worry about that. Everyone will know why you don't look your age." 

"No one knows about you?" 

"No one not connected to our world." 

He stopped, and she kept walking. The more he was learning about her life the less he liked what he was hearing. She hadn't been exaggerating when she said he had left her on her own. He fought the urge to shout another apology after her. 

He jogged a few paces to catch up with her. He didn't ask any more questions. 

The bagel shop had a line out the door and he balked again. She rolled her eyes at him and asked for his order. He skulked in a doorway a few buildings down until she came back clutching a brown bag and two cups of coffee. She handed him one. 

"You are really terrible at that," she said as they continued on. 

"What?" he said, but he already guessed. 

"Going unnoticed. I can practically guarantee every person who walked by saw you. Get yourself a baseball cap or a pair of sunglasses. Don't stand in a place you aren't supposed to be. The phones are actually a huge help because you can always bury your nose in it. Or just take a lap around the block. You’re the worst spy.” 

"How does the phone help if you don’t have anyone to talk to?” 

"There are apps and games and photos and books and text messages and the Internet." 

"All on that little thing?" 

"Yes, Steve." 

"Peggy?" 

"Yes, Steve?" 

"Can you teach me how to use the Internet?" 

He saw her bite her lip to keep from smiling. "Of course." 

"You don't have to. S.H.I.E.L.D. has already given me a few crash courses in modern living." 

"I said I do it."

"Thanks."


	4. Reconnecting

The apartment was called the Brooklyn property even though it had stopped being the only safe house in Brooklyn forty years ago. It had been the first in the borough and the name stuck. At least it had the last time Peggy had seen an expense report.

It was a neat little brownstone on a neat little street. There were three units inside and S.H.I.E.L.D. owned the whole building. She had approved the purchase herself. The top apartment was the only one reserved for a safe house with the bottom two usually rented to civilians—she wondered if they had any clue who was living above them. The income paid for the upkeep. It was pre-war, so an older building at this point but well maintained.

In the apartment itself, the kitchen and living room took up the front half of the space. The bedroom was in the back with a view of the yard. There were double doors to the bedroom to allow for the choice of one large open plan or privacy. It was bright and airy with large windows to let in the natural light that could be hard to come by in the city. White walls and worn wooden floors ran throughout. Usually, the bedroom doors were the unique feature of the apartment.

Right now, what stood out most was the almost complete lack of furniture. She saw a bed without a headboard and plain white sheets and a tiny table and a single chair in the kitchen. She questioned if there was even cups in the cupboard. There were a few cardboard boxes scattered around too.

"Rogers, you need to take a trip to IKEA," she said.

"To where?" he said. "What's an _eye-key-ah_?"

She fought back a smile. She was already having too much fun saying things to confuse him. "A furniture store. One stop shopping for literally everything you need."

He cheeks tinged pink. "Yeah, I know. It takes a lot of paperwork to bring someone back from the dead and the back pay hasn’t come in yet. They gave me a budget and permission to do whatever I want until then, but I just haven't."

"Clearly." He flushed redder, so she backed off. "But what do I know—I live out a suitcase."

He relaxed.

She moved into the kitchen to unpack their breakfast. She left his on the table and hopped up onto the counter and unwrapped her bagel.

"You can take the chair," he offered.

"Sit," she said.

He took his jacket off and hung it on the back of the chair before obeying. They both tucked into their breakfast. This felt like old times. They'd come tumbling back from a mission or emerge from whatever hideaway they could find just the two of them and gobbling up into whatever food was at hand. New York bagels were much better fare than the military rations.

Why did that time stand out so much more to her? It was so crystal clear. Not a detail out of place. Not a day forgotten. Those scenes clashed with what she was looking at now. They should be sitting in the mud. They should be in uniform. They should be cold and tired. They should have a mountain of hard work in front of them, some mission that seemed impossible. Instead, she was staring at Steve in civilian clothes in a modern kitchen eating breakfast. It was so confusing.

She balled up the wrapper when she had finished. "Now," she said. It was time for business. "Do you have wifi?"

He shrugged, looking helpless already.

"Is there a box with blinking lights plugged into the wall?" There wasn’t one in plain sight.

"There's something like that in the bedroom."

"Wonderful. Do you have a laptop? A computer?"

"Yeah. It's in one of the boxes."

He dug it out. She instructed him how to turn it on, and—after another hunt to find the wifi password—how to connect to the internet. He wasn’t completely hopeless and after an hour or so, she had him up and running with at least a few of the basics mastered. She showed him Wikipedia, and he went down the rabbit hole, sitting on the floor with the computer on his lap and tethered to the wall by the power cord.

This, too, felt like old times. Working side by side to solve a problem. There was more laughter this time. The problem was a little different and far less important. But he listened with the same attentiveness, asked the same pointed questions. This was a Brooklyn apartment, not a war room in Europe, but his brow had the same small furrow.

The lack of gravity was something Peggy has never felt in his presence before. They had spent years together on the front and even in the most casual act, there had been the pressing weight of why they were there. Everything had weight back then. Everything could change in a few hours and there were uncountable lives on the line. There was a desperation and a chaos. They had clung to each other in their stolen moments because it was all they had.

She suddenly couldn’t sit still anymore.

"Is there a towel I could use?" she asked as she rose from the floor.

He made a noise of consent but clearly hadn't been listening to her words. He hadn't looked up from the laptop either.

" _Men_ ," she thought. It didn't matter what century they were from, put them in front screen and they were lost to the world.

She had had—what was the modern term?—a friend with benefits in Florence who had loved his video games. Even she had trouble distracting him sometimes.

"Steve, I'm running away to the circus. Care to join me?"

He tore his eyes away and blinked up at her. "Um, did you say something about the circus?"

"Now I have your attention," she said. "I'm desperate for a shower. Is there a towel I could use? I’ll go back to Tony’s if it's too much trouble."

She wasn’t sure which she would prefer.

"Oh, yeah. Hang on," he said and scrambled up off the floor.

She waited as he dashed into the bathroom. After a pause and the sound of something falling over, he reappeared with an armload of clothes. He dumped it on the bed.

"I was doing laundry," he explained.

"No laundromat?" she said, knowing perfectly well they'd walked passed one on the block.

"It's just a few things. Didn't seem worth all that money."

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"What? Four dollars is a lot!"

"Not anymore."

He shrugged as he pulled a plain white towel out of the pile. He then folded it and handed it to her.

"It's clean. I promise," he added.

She took it with a smile, retrieved her purse, and retreated to the bathroom. She couldn’t help the small sigh of relief as she closed the door. Privacy at last. A moment alone at last.

She set her purse on the toilet lid and rummaged through it. She knew herself well enough to anticipate she would not be returning to Tony’s last night, so she had not come entirely unprepared. She had stashed a toothbrush, makeup and a clean pair of knickers in her bag.

After finding what she needed, she undressed and was grateful the only mirror in the little bathroom was the medicine cabinet. She was still feeling very self-conscious and didn’t need the full experience. It didn’t stop her from examining the scars leftover from getting impaled. She couldn’t see the one on her back, but she could feel the uneven skin. She knew it matched the jagged rent on her front. Wrinkles, stretch marks, gravity, it took its toll on most people. She had none of these things. There wasn’t much she could use to gauge the passage time on her own body but these scars. Still visible but fading with time. She supposed most women—most people—grew self-conscious as they aged. She was self-conscious of what didn’t change.

The truth was she had stopped marveling at her youthful beauty a long time ago. Yes, she was grateful she was healthy, able, but she had let it go to waste. Somewhere along the line, the spark had vanished. She felt as though she had gone too far away. She was lost and didn’t know the way back. She had known it for a while, but seeing Steve, having him question her whether he meant to or not, having him look at her as if nothing had changed, it was a bad reminder. But there was also the thought that maybe she didn’t want to come back.

Focusing on the task at hand, she ran the hot water and twisted her hair into a bun right on top of her head. She had also had the good sense—or maybe the vanity—to wash her hair before leaving Tony’s. She stepped under the jet of water being careful not to wet her hair. Conscious that S.H.I.E.L.D. would pay the water bill, she hurried through her shower. Then, she dressed in the same clothes, reapplied her makeup, and fussed with her curls when she took her hair down.

Steve didn’t notice when she returned. She watched him for a few minutes as his eyes scanned back and forth, back and forth. He looked down at the trackpad before clicking.

She shook her head at him and wandered into the bedroom. He had put away the laundry, and the sheets had military corners. It was the only place to sit and keep him in view in the entire apartment. So, she perched there before easing herself down onto her back. What was she doing here? It was the most unreal situation in her entire, very unreal life. She was lying on Steve Rogers’ bed. Granted, she was still clothed in yesterday’s outfit, which is not how she had once pictured it. She folded her hands across the stomach and closed her eyes.

She thought she had drifted off. The faint sounds of music reached her; sounds of the forties, sounds she had been playing in the apartment in Paris when Natasha had caught her. She half expected to open her eyes and find a dusty bar.

Instead, she found Steve watching her from the doorway. He gave her a half smile but seemed nervous.

"Still jet-lagged?" he asked.

She popped up onto the elbows. She hadn’t heard him get up.

"Sorry?" she said.

"Are you tired? This has got to be really boring."

"It’s alright."

"There’s something else you could teach me."

"And what is that?" She knew what he would say next. He was a quick study; he’d gone looking for the music. She knew what he was setting up. A dance. A single dance nearly seventy years too late.

He answered the question exactly as she predicted. "You could teach me how to dance."

She didn’t move, but didn’t say no, didn’t dismiss the idea outright. And that surprised her. She would have to decide at some point: stay or go. There wasn’t an option for both. She could stay in New York or she could disappear again. If she stayed, it led to one place. It led to him. The pull was too strong. They were like magnets drawn together. Her willpower had only barely held them apart last night, but it would break at some point. They would collide and she wouldn’t be able to pull them apart.

He needed to be here; the world needed him. She found people to replace her, but there was only one Captain America. There might be traces of the serum in Peggy’s blood, but she was no super soldier. She wouldn’t be able to disappear with him in tow. She would have to stay to be with him. Her old life would fold in around her. She would be Director Carter again and as much as she was giving into him, she didn’t want everything it entailed. It wasn’t just him she would say yes to.

However, she found herself ignoring all of that, or at least not caring quite as much. Head was losing the fight to heart. Seventy years too late, but she held out a hand for him to take. He practically leaped forward and help her up. He was eager, but when he actually touched her it was gentle. Still, he used his consider strength to pulled her up. She led him into the empty living room. With a glance to the heavens for strength, she turned back to face him.

She positioned his hand on her hip, and, still holding his other hand, stretched it out. Her touch slid down his bare arm until her free hand found a comfortable place. She then looked to their feet and positioned hers and he copied. She did all this without meeting his eyes.

"It’s easy," she said. "Slow dancing is mostly just moving with the music now."

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and again he copied. They found the rhythm of the music though it was almost too faint to hear. He was probably trying to be courteous to the neighbors.

She still hadn’t looked up at him. She didn’t know what would happen if she did. Here in his arms, she was falling in love with him again. It had been inevitable, but there it was. She had loved him all this time. She had hidden it away, deep in her heart to make room for someone else. And that someone else had never appeared. Or maybe the serum had filled the space. Against all reason, she was deciding to stay. It wasn’t relief or joy that washed over her, but the sensation of borrowed time. She might find happiness for a while, but it would end. It always ended.

She tucked in closer, pressing her cheek against his chest and listening to the beat of his heart. Alive and steady. She could smell the faint scent of the soap that had been in the shower. He rested his chin on the top of her head.

How could she leave? How could she exist in a world at the same time as Steve and not be fighting by his side? Where she belonged. Where she had been from beginning. The thoughts tore down the rest of her reservations. The wall crumbled and at long last pulled back to look at him.

"Take me to bed," she whispered.

She read the hesitation on his face. Was it nerves or did he see her desperation? She needed to feel something. She had gone too far. She was ready to come home and home was, as it always had been, was where they met.

She slipped out of his arms in a lithe moment and went to the bedroom. She held onto his hand until he needed to follow her, but when he didn’t move, she was forced to let go.

The room was bathed in the warm afternoon light from the back windows. As she stood in a sunbeam, she turned back towards him. When their eyes locked again, she reached around behind her back and tugged at the zipper of her skirt. She wiggled out of it and let it fall to the floor. She stepped out of it and her shoes too. She stood barefoot on the hardwood floor, pulling at the collar of her blouse that still covered most of her body. He should be able to see her black panties and the curves of her thighs.

He licked his lips, but he stayed where he was. His feet didn’t move. Was he playing hard to get or was he unsure? She tried to remember the last time they had been together, but all she could come up with was their last kiss. His hungry eyes were making it hard to concentrate.

Next, she undid her blouse. Carefully, one button at a time, until she could expose her shoulders. His gaze followed, fixing on the same spot where he had been staring at that morning. She didn’t let the shirt go but clutched around her midsection. He would have to take it if he wanted the rest.

“Take me to bed," she repeated with more force, an order not a request. 

Now, he moved. He came to her in a rush, already reaching out to take her face in both his hands. They collided in another breathless kiss. Forgetting herself, Peggy let her shirt go so she could grab onto him too. She yanked at his t-shirt, pulling it up, revealing all of his carved chest. He only let their lips part as it went over his head.

She took a step backward so her legs brushed against the bed. Pulling on his belt so he had to follow, she laid back. He put his strong hands on either side of her shoulders, his knees straddling her legs. His kisses moved down her chin, along her throat, and to her collarbone. Her lips missed his, but it felt bloody good. A small deep moan escaped her and he stopped abruptly.

"For Christ's sake man, don’t stop," she said, still lost in the tease of deep pleasure.

"Sorry, I thought…" He paused. "What are you wearing?"

Her bra was a cream color so it didn't show through her white shirt. Boring color, but it was patterned with a delicate lace, so delicate as to be almost sheer.

“A woman sometimes likes to wear a little lace. For herself, mind you,” she said with a smile.

“It’s so—there’s nothing there. Bottoms too.”

“Modern days. All sorts of advances. It will be easier to examine if you take it off.” She pressed against him to get a reaction.

“Yeah?” he asked and she couldn’t tell if he was being dumb or coy.

She raised her shoulders off the mattress to kiss him again, gently. While she was lifted up, she undid the clasp. She didn’t take it off on her own, though even as she lowered back down. She waited for him.

He breathed out and slipped his hand under the fabric. His fingers traced her skin, circling her nipple, and she breathed out another small moan. Emboldened by enjoyment, he pulled at the strap and she untangled herself. He put his lips to her full and soft breast and repeated what he had been doing with his fingers with his tongue. She tilted her head back and sighed again and again.

He moved lower to her ribs and to her stomach. She realized what he would find the second before he found it. He pulled back.

“What happened?” he asked as he gingerly touched the scar like it might still hurt.

"Someday, I will tell you the story," she said, and he respectfully looked away.

She used the momentary return to her senses to move farther onto the bed. She grabbed his belt again and pulled him along. For all his size, he was very malleable under her direction. Enough of this teasing. It was his turn to bear it all.

She fumbled with the buckle with more purpose. Once undone, she jerked at his pants and taking his boxers with it. He shook himself free. Now he was exposed, every considerable inch of him. The sensation in her belly that had been growing with every kiss, blazed at the sight of him standing at attention, ready for her. She was ready for him too; it was damp between her legs.

She pushed on one shoulder instructing him down on his back. He hooked his arm around her waist and took her with him so they switched position effortlessly. He was on his back with his head on pillows as she kneeled beside him. Before she could move, he slipped a single finger under the elastic of her underwear and slid it down her thighs. She had to rise up so it could come down below her knees. These moments where he took control aroused her as much as his nakedness.

She straddled him, holding his hips between her knees, and eased herself down on top of him with little shaky breaths as he slid inside her. She folded over him and kissed his chest, moving up his breastbone and to his collarbone. She pushed her hand behind his neck and pulled him upright. From this angle, she couldn’t have actually lifted him, but she felt every one of his stomach muscles contract as he rose to meet her. They kiss again. She toyed with the bottom lip; his tongue pressed through the opening.

She rocked her hips, up, down, up, down, testing boundaries, seeing how far she could go, how long it will take for them to forget themselves. He moaned into her mouth. He moved one hand to the small of her back and the other behind him to support them both. His hips move in time with hers.

Their kiss broke apart so she could try to catch her breath. It was useless; her deep sighs turned into moans as he took control again and set the pace. Her murmurs grew louder only matched by his groans. She closed her eyes and wrapped him in a tight embrace. She could only hold on. 

“Steve,” she said against his skin.

He didn’t answer; he was focused. She needed to hear his voice, needed proof.

“Say my name,” she told him. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Peggy,” he said. “Peggy, oh God!”

Their speed had reached something fevered. She was so close and she would take him with her. She peaked in one final cry and a shudder as felt the muscles in her body tense and release in complete submission. She collapsed against him but kept up the rhythm until she felt him quiver beneath her. His moans sounded like relief. She felt something warm running down her thigh.

They stay like that, savoring the moment, reeling from the electricity, and panting slightly.

“Oh God, Peggy,” he said.

“Yeah,” she said with a smile.

She sat up a little and took his face in both her hands. She kissed him again and, as she did so, leaned against him. He got the hint again and laid back on the pillows. She rolled off him but stayed tucked against him, draping half of her upper body on top of his. He looped his arm around her shoulder. She rested her cheek against his chest and listened for the heartbeat again. It drummed harder this time as he still caught his breath.

She couldn’t keep the word _reckless_ out of her mind even as she tried to ignore it. She watched the square of sunshine on the wall get a little lower.

“This is nice,” he said. “We had no time to rest before.”

“No room in the storage closets either.”

“That too.”

“Does the Petrov mission count?” she said.

“Which one was that? Not everyone can have every mission filed away in their head.”

“I’ve never been able to forget any of it." She sighed. 

She always wondered at what the mind holds onto. Some years were easier to remember than others. Some faces were clearer than other. There were even a few personal details that had happened so long ago they felt like they belonged to someone else. She had been engaged once. That seemed laughable now. Poor old Fred. She wondered what had happened to him. He had survived the war; she knew that much. Why was one day in the snow with Steve so much sharper in her head than an entire person, a person she had also loved once and intended to marry?

“What was the mission?” he asked to pull her out of her thoughts. He traced a small circle on her shoulder blade.

“The mission isn’t the point. The point was what happened afterward. The blizzard. In Russia. I had a touch of hypothermia.”

“A touch?”

She lifted her head and rested her chin on his chest this time. She could see he was smiling and she could see he remembered.

“Just the sniffles.”

“So, that’s why you had to crawl inside my shirt?”

That was exactly what she had done. His unusual body heat—the same thing that was keeping her naked body warm now—had kept the cold from getting truly dangerous. Even after they had been hidden in the back a truck and out of the elements, the flaps of canvas weren’t enough to protect the average person. She had leaned against his bare chest, wrapped in his coat, shivering violently all the way back to base. They had been teased mercilessly when the rest of the Howlers had seen them. 

“Well, I kept us from going over a cliff,” she said. 

“I don’t remember that.”

“You never remember anything.”

“I remember the snow in your hair that day,” Steve said.

“Hopeless,” she said, taking back her private assessment from earlier in the day.

“I don’t really think that counts whether I remember it or not,” he said lazily.

She put her head back down. She had to admit it was nice. Nowhere to be, no one to hide from, no pressure, out in the open. No squeezing into some shadowy, unused corner, no biting her tongue to keep quiet, no frantic need to look presentable—or at least like what had happened hadn’t just happened. But this wasn’t the first time she had imagined what that might be like.

“I used to dream about just lying in bed with you,” she said softly. She squeezed her eyes shut and, unbidden, a few tears escaped. “I would wake up twice. Once next to you and then again for real. I don’t want to wake up a second time.”

“What do you mean?” he asked slowly as if not daring to believe it.

"I’ll stay," she said and she couldn’t help the catch in her voice, "if you want."

He sighed; she felt his chest rise and fall. He was relieved. Of course, he wanted her to stay. It was probably the only thing he wanted beside going back in time.

"Don’t do it for me," he said as if he meant it. 

"I want to be with you."

"Then, why do you sound so sad?"

"Because I know that fire burns and I’m still going towards the flames."

"I’m not going to hurt you. Not again."

"No one ever means to." She ran her fingertips along his collarbone, so she didn’t have to see his face.

His grip around her tightened. “I would like you to stay, but please don’t do it out of some obligation. I love you—I’d like to marry you and maybe meet our someday kid, but if that’s not in the cards, then that’s not in the cards. I have accepted that. I’ll take today as goodbye if I have to. Don’t stay for me. You do it because you want to.”

“I want to come home,” Peggy said.


	5. Reconsidering

Peggy woke in the dark. She lifted her head and tried to get her bearings. It wasn’t completely black but the scant lighting filtered through paper-thin shades on windows without curtains. Strange bed, empty apartment. Where the hell was she? 

“Hey,” said a voice next to her. 

The voice was familiar, intimate even, but she didn’t relax. She waited for the other shoe to drop. As it always did. 

“You okay?” he asked. 

The other shoe did not drop. She really was awake. In a strange bed in an empty apartment with Steve Rogers beside her. She brushed her mess of hair away from her forehead and sat up a little farther. 

“Yes, I’m fine,” she said, hardly believing it. 

“Bad dream?” 

“I didn’t know where I was. It’s so dark.” 

“The sunset.” 

“Why didn’t you turn on a light?” 

“I didn’t want to disturb you. I know how dangerous that can be.” 

She smacked his arm with the back of her hand. 

“Ouch! That’s exactly what I mean.” 

“I could’ve done worse than that, you big baby.” 

“Yeah, Dugan used to take bets on how bad it would be.” 

“He used to get hit because he was taking bets.” 

She had already untangled herself from him, so she pulled the blanket off the end of the bed and wrapped it around her. He caught her wrist as she got off the bed. 

She slipped out of his grasp and felt her way to the wall and light switch. The overhead fixture clicked on and they both blinked and squinted in the sudden illumination. He was still spread eagle on the mattress among the twisted sheets. 

She loved and hated how proud he looked. There was something so naive and impish about it. He was a surprising lover especially given his inexperience, and he knew it. And nothing had made sitting across from him in a briefing more difficult than that stupid smile. 

She didn’t immediately climb back in bed. She should go. It was getting late, and she wouldn't spend three days in the same clothes—not that she was wearing them at the moment. She didn’t want to leave. Despite the blanket, she was missing his warm. She didn’t want to break the magic spell. It was real; she trusted that. She just didn’t know how long it would last. 

“Don’t leave,” he said. 

“Am I really that obvious?” she said with a smile. 

“Just a little. I know your time-is-up look.” 

Too many encounters in storage rooms. Too many time wondering if they were about to get caught. It tugged at her heart. She let it pull her back to him. Although she picked up her undergarments and her shirt from the floor and put them on as she went, she curled against him again. She hugged the pillow beside him and leaned her length against his side. 

“Don’t let me fall asleep,” she said even as she closed her eyes. “I have to go back to Tony’s at some point.” 

“Why?” 

“Because,” she said into the pillow. 

He didn’t say anything else, but after a moment, she felt him push up the hem of her shirt. She had put it on, but hadn’t buttoned it and it had ridden up as she laid down. 

“On your back too?” he said. 

He had found the counterpart to the scar on her front. She propped herself up on her elbows so she could see his face. 

“Yes, when you get impaled it leaves two marks,” she said casually. 

“Impaled?” 

“Rebar right through me. Fell almost a story too.” 

“Ouch.” 

“Better than being sucked into a woman filled with something called Dark Matter.” 

“That sounds like fun, though.” 

“So much fun.” She paused. “It was the beginning of the discovery of...all this.” 

“Yeah?” he pressed. 

“I healed too quickly. I knew something was off.” 

“And you guessed the serum.” 

“Took a few years to admit it, but yes eventually.” 

“Did you know how you were…”

“Exposed?” she finished. 

He nodded. 

“No, not really. No one will ever say it to my face, but perhaps our carnal activities. Or maybe was one of the many times we patched each other up.” 

He pulled down the collar of her shirt and kissed her shoulder where the two scars from bullets he had removed were. She closed her eyes at the feel of his lips on her skin. 

“Or maybe it was just proximity,” she said. 

“But then the others…” 

“I don’t know why. That’s the short story.” 

He seemed lost in thought. She didn’t want to break it to him, but if no one had figured it out yet, he won’t be able to. Still, she silently appreciated him trying. 

“So, no one knows how to—I don't know—stop it?” he asked. 

She also appreciated that he seemed to see it for what it was. Not a gift but a heavy burden, a weight that leaned on every aspect of life. 

“No," she said. "And I can’t count the number of people who have tried. No one could even recreate it.”

"We're both one of a kind." 

She made a noncommittal sound. 

“Hey?” he said after a pause. 

“Hey, what?” 

“Can I show you something?” 

She sat up again. “I’ve seen quite enough.” She tossed the sheet over his waist. 

He flushed his usual scarlet as if he only just realized he was completely naked. She didn’t actually mind the view. It was incredible. Not in the same way as his frame had been when he had stepped out of the pod a changed man; when she had reached out to touch against her common decency because she just couldn’t believe it. 

It had been a few weeks since he was revived, but there wasn’t a scratch on him. No scars. No blemishes to mark what he had been through. Those things showed on her own skin, showed some of what she had been through, but he had no roadmap. He had been dead for seventy years; there should be something. 

He got out of bed and she missed the contact at once. She didn’t take her eyes off him. His back was as unsullied as his front, the muscles just as taut. She loved his back. She had loved to lean against it as he bent over a desk when they were alone. If she knew they couldn't get caught, she would put her arms around him and kiss his neck. 

He retrieved his shorts from the floor and pulled them on. He opened the closet door, and she saw a few shirts on hangers. Someone had taken him clothes shopping at least. He didn't reach for a shirt, however. He took something off the top shelf, something small enough it disappeared in his hand. 

She sat up and crossed her legs beneath her as he settled back down. He opened his palm to reveal his compass. She didn't know what she expected, but it wasn't this. How had he hung onto it? The shield, him, they were big enough to be saved, but the compass was so small. 

“Take it. Open it,” he said. 

“I know what's in it,” she said but picked it up anyway. It was heavier than she remembered. She had had one just like it. Standard issue. 

“You do?” 

She clicked it open. Her own slightly warped photograph looked up from the lid. 

“Darling, neither of us are or were quite as slick as we think. Even Phillips knew.” 

"I see." 

"Don't get me wrong, I love it. I went with you even if I wasn't on the mission. I never liked it when you went on your own. You boys got into so much trouble without me." 

"There was a lot of trouble when you were with us too." 

"True," Peggy said and flashed him a smile. 

"You always got us out of it again. Whether you were there or not. You were always in the right direction. North points to you." 

"Home is where you are," she answered as if that was the only natural response. 

Her phone chimed from inside her bag and they both snapped their attention to the interruption. A bubble burst. 

"Just ignore it," he said. 

"I can't. It will just keep making noise." She was already getting out of bed. 

She fished out the phone and read the text message. 

FURY IS ON HIS WAY TO SEE ROGERS

The number was unknown, but she had one guess. Natasha had probably been tracking Tony's phone. His earlier call had given her the number. There wasn't much point in hiding now, but Peggy still swore loudly. 

"What?" said Steve. 

“Fury.” She jumped into action, collecting the rest of her clothes. “And they have my number.” 

"What about Fury?" 

"He's on his way here." 

"So?" 

"I don’t want him to find me like this. He is my protege and he played us both too easily." 

"Played us?" 

"Like a damn violin." 

He didn't respond to that. 

She dressed properly as he watched. He didn't move from the mattress. 

"Is there something to write with?" she asked, tying her hair up again. 

He leaned down and, from a small pile of items that belong on a night stand, he picked up a notebook. It was black leather, bound with an elastic strap, and fat like it had a pencil stuck in the middle. She flipped it open after taking it from him. On the page marked by the pencil, there was drawing of a tree like the ones lining the street. She had a sudden image of him sitting in the window for hours, watching the world go by, and doodling. 

On the back of the previous page, she scribbled her compromised phone number. 

"Figure out how to use your phone and call me. Sorry to dash." She pressed the notebook to his chest and kissed him quickly. "Love you." 

The words slipped out. She hadn't meant to say them. Their feelings had always been understood but not expressed out loud. No goodbyes, no I love yous. They had said a lot more than they had ever said before just in the past few hours. Maybe there was time now. 

She was heading for the door before either of them reacted. She didn’t let herself process. Didn’t let herself think of what any of this meant. Didn’t let herself panic about all the promises she had just made. 

Outside, she pulled up the collar of her coat and hurried towards the subway station. A large black SUV trundled past as she descended the steps. 

With the last few bar of signal and before the train arrived, she texted the number back. 

THANKS FOR THE HEADS UP, NATASHA.

WE NEED TO TALK

GIVE ME HALF AN HOUR. 

Peggy’s phone rang as soon as she was above ground again. She got off the subway a few stops early to give Natasha a call. Walking along a busy sidewalk was often a good way to get privacy. Natasha was a few steps ahead of her. 

“I don’t appreciate being tracked,” Peggy said by way of a greeting. 

“Just your phone.” 

“Does Tony know S.H.I.E.L.D. is monitoring his phone?” 

“He does not, but it’s not S.H.I.E.L.D., just me.” 

“I am not sure he would think that is any better,” said Peggy. 

“It didn’t lead anywhere until today. I thought Tony would have called you right away after Fury asked for your contact.” 

Peggy has to admit she was surprised Tony hadn’t called when they found Steve, but he probably knew she would know. In a way, she had after all. 

“He knew I still had my sources.” She turned down a block at random. No one followed. “So, what do you need to talk about? Besides making sure I wasn’t caught unprepared in Steve’s bed by the good director.”

“Carter!” Natasha said in mock-surprise. 

There was no point in hiding where she had been. Natasha had the data from Peggy’s phone. She knew Peggy had spent the night at the gym and then the entire day at the apartment. She knew already. Besides, Peggy missed having a friend to talk to about these things. She imagined the proud smile that would have been on Angie’s face. Peggy smiled too and missed her friend bitterly. 

“I want none of that lip, young lady,” Peggy said. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Was there a reason for this call?” 

“Another heads up. Fury was trying to catch you at a bad moment. He does want to back.” 

Peggy was silent for a moment. “In what capacity?” 

“Official motivator,” Natasha said dryly. 

“Huh.” 

“I think he'll take you in any capacity." 

"What if I wanted to be director again?" 

"Alright, maybe not any capacity. We all know what kind of team the Howling Commandos were. He wants something like that." 

"The Avenger Initiative," Peggy said. It wasn't a question. 

"You shouldn't know about that." 

"But I do." 

"Yes, he's putting together a team, and he wants you to run it."

"And he was hoping if he caught us in a compromised position I would say yes?" 

"I don't know what Fury was hoping for. He doesn't know I have your number. I think it was only a guess you were with Rogers." 

"Good guess." 

"His usually are." 

"So, you're trying to persuade me to stay?" 

"I just wanted you to know. I dragged into this. I wanted to make sure you didn't get stuck." 

"I'm staying," Peggy said. "I told Steve I would stay." 

"Honestly, I'm glad to hear it." 

"Don't say anything about the world needing me." Peggy knew that was a little hypocritical given she was using the same argument on Steve. 

"I meant personally. I had fun the other night—I hope that's not out of place to say." 

"No, I did too." 

She as good as saw Natasha's shy smile. 

"I'm a block away from Tony's," Peggy said. "I'll talk to you later." 

"Sure thing. Have a good night." 

"You too." 

They hung up. 

She walked the rest of the way to Stark Tower and rode the lift up to the living quarters. 

When the doors opened, Tony was leaning against the opposite wall, grinning. 

“Hello, Auntie Peg,” he said. 

She brushed passed him and he bounded after her like a puppy. If he had started yipping, she wouldn’t have been surprised. 

"Don't Auntie Peg me," she said. 

“Where were you all night, hmm?” he asked.

“Out,” she said. 

“Out where?” 

“Out.”

“C’mon.” 

“Just out.” 

“Tell me.” 

“Tony, I swear.” 

“What? I’m just want to know how your day has been.” 

“That is not what you want to know.” 

“Okay, you’re right. I want to know how Cap is doing.” 

He started to say something else, some uncouth question she was sure, but she shut the door to her suite in his face. She heard him laughing on the other side. She waited for a beat and then poked her head out again. 

“Oh,” she said casually. “I invited Black Widow for dinner. Hope you don't mind.” 

His mouth fell open, and the laughter stopped. She closed the door again. 

Peggy got her laugh, but it didn’t last long. The day with Steve, Natasha's caution weighed on her. 

"Jarvis," she said to the empty room. 

The voice answered immediately. "Yes, Ms. Carter?" 

"I've just told Tony I invited someone for dinner. Please let whoever needs to know that isn't strictly true." 

"Ms. Potts is working late. There are no dinner plans." 

"Oh good," she said without much heart. 

"Anything else I can do for you?" 

"Yes actually. I left some luggage in storage in Paris. Do you know the best way to arrange to have it sent here?" 

"If you send me the relevant information, I will get it here tomorrow. Planning a longer stay?" 

At his question, something wonderful happened. The relief she had been waiting for flooded her chest. Even this modeled, disembodied voice of her dear friend could still make her feel better. A longer stay, not forever, not permanent. Nothing was permanent. It was a hard lesson she had learned time and time again, but it never seemed to stick. She didn't have to stay forever; she was just staying for now. Now could last a long time. A second could last a long time. 

"Yes," she said. "I'll be staying for a bit longer." 

**

It was late when the phone rang. Peggy was still wide awake, of course. Between sleeping most of the day away and then spending the rest of it in bed, she was well rested. 

She had washed again before Tony really could look too closely. She changed out of her wrinkled clothes and into a deep red sweater that hung off her shoulder and a pair of loose, high-waisted grey slacks. She found Tony making himself an omelet in the kitchen and put in a request with the chef. They had whiled away the evening before he had wandered back to his lab. 

Without his distraction, she had stretched out on a sofa on the highest floor of the tower. The city blinked at her from below. She had been pretending to read, but she was really letting her mind wander down paths it hadn't traveled in a long time. 

She welcomed the interruption. She got up and moved to the balcony before answering. It was another unknown number on the screen, but again she knew who it would be. 

"Hello," she said softly as she leaned on the railing, looking even more closely at shining New York City. 

"It's me," said Steve. 

"I knew it would be." 

"There wasn't much to figure out. I got a lesson before they moved me into the apartment. I just didn’t turn it on."

"That doesn't surprise me either. What did Fury want?" 

"Here, this will surprise you. He had a mission for me. For us really." 

"If you will believe it, that is not actually a surprise," she said and smiled. She had missed their banter. It felt like there were finding their stride again, falling back into place. "What did you tell him?" 

As she asked her question, she turned around so she was leaning her back against the railing and looking back into the penthouse. There was a figure standing in the doorway. 

She gasped and reached automatically for a weapon that wasn’t there. 

“Peggy!” Steve said. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” 

The figure stepped forward and into the light and she saw who it was. 

“Jesus Christ, Nicholas J. Fury!” she yelled. 

“Peggy!” Steve was still calling to her through the phone. 

“Yes, Steve, I’m fine,” she reassured. 

He sighed heavily. “You scared me.” 

“Well, Nicholas bloody scared me.” She scowled across the balcony at where Fury was now casually leaning in the doorway with his arms folded. She didn’t like the smile on his usually stern face. 

“Nicholas?” Steve asked. 

“Steve, darling, let me call you back.” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

“Right back. I promise.” 

She hung up and squared off with her protege. 

“I could have bloody shot you,” she said. 

“Not likely. Since you didn’t know I was standing here. Finally got one on you.” 

“Only a little,” Peggy said. She moved forward and reached out for a hug. She pulled back and patted him on his cheek just a little too hard. “Cheeky bugger.” 

“Welcome back, Director Carter,” Fury said. 

“Welcome back indeed. You bring me here kicking and screaming only to use this old director.” She sighed. “And I let you.” 

“At least I’m being upfront about it.” 

“More than usual.” 

“I know better than to pull one over you.” 

“You should by now.” 

She brushed passed him and back inside. She dropped onto the couch, sitting like a queen on her throne with her arm stretched out along the back. He followed her and took a spot on the other sofa. He rested an ankle on the opposite knee. 

“Sending Romanov to fetch me to fetch Steve. You made all the moves perfectly. I’m almost proud,” she said and he looked away from a moment. “So, what now?” 

“You sound angry.” 

“I am.” 

“Don’t pretend this isn’t what you want.” 

“It is, and it isn’t, Nicholas. The second chance is such a gift, but it’s not free. You’re putting strings on it. I don’t get one without the other. I gave up this life for a reason.”

“And I’m not asking you to stay.” 

“But you are. You have. Don’t pretend you weren’t hoping to find me at Steve’s tonight.” 

“There seems to be a leak in my office.” 

“Natasha was only looking out for a friend.” 

“I should’ve known it was dangerous to put you two together.” 

“That isn’t the point,” she said. 

“No, it’s not. The point is you know what I want.” 

“And I’m not ready to give you an answer. Give me at least a day to enjoy this before you call in the debt.”

“Director—“

She held up her hand, and he stopped. 

“Please,” she said. “I just need a little more time. Give us a little time.” 

“He said yes. There’s a mission tomorrow.” 

She looked away. “I know.” 

“I could use your help.” 

“I know. I know it seems like I’ve had more than my fair share of time, but I need a little more.“

He nodded, and it was as good as a signed contract. He didn’t stay for very long, but they took the time to catch up a little. Then, he went slinking back to the shadows and leaving Peggy alone again. 

Time. Time. Time. Time. The word pounded in her brain. She should be out of time. She should’ve used all her time up and here she was asking for more, demanding more. It scared her. 

She moved towards action. She didn’t want to sleep at Tony’s; she didn’t want to be alone. 

After packing a few more items and telling Jarvis not to worry, she went outside to hail a cab. Because of the time of night, it was only twenty minutes before she was standing on the sidewalk in front of the Brooklyn property. She stared up at the third-floor windows and regretted not calling ahead. They were dark, like closed eyes. 

She pulled out her phone and redialed the last number. It took a while for Steve to pick up. 

“God, this thing is loud,” he said. His voice was rough. 

“Did I wake you?” 

“A little.” 

“Sorry.” She knew how hard sleep was to come by after first returning. 

“It’s okay. I’m glad you called. I wanted to finish our conversation.” 

“I’m actually outside,” she said, interrupting his thought. “I mean, outside your building.” 

“What? Everything okay?” 

“Yes. Sort of. I don’t know. I just wanted to come back.” 

“Okay.” 

“Is that alright?” 

“Of course. Move in. There’s plenty of room.” 

She smiled to herself. “You need to buzz me in if you want me to come up tonight.” 

“Right.” 

“See you in a second.” 

The door buzzed, and it sounded loud enough to disturb the entire block. She pushed the door open quickly. He looked over the railing from the top floor as she ascended the stairs. He was pulling on a t-shirt. She moved as fast as she could without taking the steps two at a time. 

She barreled into him and he had to hold on to keep from getting knocked over. She wrapped both her arms around him. Her head tucked neatly beneath his chin. She felt little and very safe. 

“Hey there,” he said as he squeezed back. She felt the rumble of his voice as much as she heard it. “What happened?” 

“Why can’t it just be this?” she said. “Why does it have to be both? Why can’t I just love you? Why do I have to be an agent to do it?” 

“Peggy, what happened?” 

“The rest of world came knocking. We hadn’t even been together again a day, and it wants to collect.” 

“Collect what?” 

“There’s a debt. I don’t get you without coming back to this life.” 

He lifted her up, cradling her against his chest like she really was small. And what was more, she let him. 

She heard the door close behind them and he carried her through the dark apartment and into the bedroom. He set her down on the bed and knelt in front of her. 

“You get me no matter what,” he said. “If you want me.” 

She brushed the back of her fingers along his cheek. “I want you. That is exactly the problem.” 

She pushed him away and swung her legs around the corner of the mattress. She slipped off her shoes, shimmied out of her trousers, and pulled her sweater over her head. He watched her with concern, studied her, tried to read her. She kept her face and her movements neutral. She had to focus on keeping her hands steady. She didn’t recognize the person she had become and, she doubted he did either. 

When she was down to just her underwear and the tight tank top from under the sweater, she grabbed his shoulder and guided him towards her. She moved backward over the bed until she reached the pillows. 

He laid down behind her. She reached for his arm and pulled it across her shoulders like a blanket. She closed her eyes and a shaky sigh escaped. 

“Talk to me,” he said. “What did Fury do? He told you about the mission.” 

“He said you were going and asked me to help. Nothing I wasn’t expecting.” 

“Then, we are you so upset? I can’t stand seeing you this way.” 

“I don’t know.” 

“You do. Please, tell me.” 

“It’s my organization. My people. I can’t turn my back on them again. It was cowardly to leave.” 

“You are anything but a coward. You needed a break. You have done more than anyone should be asked to do and you had to do most of it on your own.” 

“The same could be said about you.” 

“Weren’t you trying to convince me the world needed me just this morning?” 

“I guess we’re both needed. I can’t turn away anymore. I have to keep you safe this time,” she said. 

If she wanted one—and she so badly did— she had to have the other. It was the only way to make sure he came home. She couldn’t walk away knowing he would fight. She had to be by his side. It was where she belonged, where she was meant to be. 

“I’ll be on the mission tomorrow,” she said after a long pause. “I don’t know about the next one.” 

“Day by day. Like the old days.” 

“With fewer orders. No one can boss me around anymore.” 

“They never could.” 

“You’d be surprised.” 

“Are you sure?” he asked after another pause. 

“I’m sure about this, about you.”

“I love you too,” he said, and she felt him shudder. “I’ve wanted to say that for so long.” 

“Not as long as I’ve wanted to hear it. You were very late.”


	6. Reaction

Peggy opened the locker door and found exactly what she was expecting. The black field uniform hung, waiting patiently. She lifted the sleeve of the left arm and ran her fingers along the inside just above the elbow. There was ridged of fabric from a repair and even that was what she had expected. She had been grazed by a bullet on one of her last missions, tearing the jacket and her flesh. Both had been masterfully fixed. Her arm only had a slight discoloration from the nano-molecular something or other. That was one scar she didn't carry. This was her uniform, pulled from storage at the headquarters. 

She undressed and reached back into the locker. She assessed everything before putting it on. Tall, black, non-cotton socks that were standard issue. The black pants were made out of a tough fabric almost like leather but far more breathable to allow for protection and mobility. The black t-shirt was almost skin tight. Heavy black combat boots laced halfway up her calf. Next, she pulled the jacket on and zipped it to her collarbone. The S.H.I.E.L.D. logo was over her heart and her pins that marked her rank were still on the collar. The next piece was the holster, empty for now. She took her little .22 out of her purse and secured it in her boot. She would get a standard issue utility knife and another gun with a little more heft to it from weapons storage. 

Next, she leaned towards the small mirror on the inside of the door. She pulled her hair into a low ponytail and tugged it so it sat on one shoulder. She pinned back a few loose standards of hair, but it was more to make sure she had the pins handy. She had never once been on a mission without a bobby pin and it had saved more times than she would admit. Finally, she applied a coat of her red lipstick. She had never been on a mission without that either. 

Such a different production since the first time she put on a uniform. No more silly heels or skirts for the women. Nearly as many layers, but now every piece was formfitting, breathable, temperature-sensitive. It offered protection and functionality. Nothing was wasted. 

She had stepped back into old life and she felt miserably unprepared. She was out of shape and out of practice. Muscle memory would only take her so far. Even with the leisurely lifestyle she had adopted, she hasn't let herself go. She always found a gym, a sparring partner, but every day had turned into once or twice a week. Sometimes the best way to remember how to ride a bicycle was to get back on and sometimes one ended up in a heap on the pavement. Only time would tell which. 

" _Good as is going to get_ ," she told herself. 

It was all show anyway. She was staying in command where the director belonged. She would still on hand to assist with no one putting life and limb in her hands. Things had changed; she had changed. She'd needed a warm up at the very least. 

Running the show had got a lot easier since the time she had let Steve jump out of a plane with only a single radio. Half the team would have cameras and everyone would have ear pieces for constant comminution with each other and with command. It was going to quite the change for Steve but she would be there to walk him through it. 

She straightened the jacket again and left the locker room. 

Steve was waiting for her by weapon storage, desperately trying not to look like he was waiting. He was leaning hunched against a wall. He stared at the floor and did not make eye contact. This was a busy S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier; they were far from alone. 

Someone had chased the other women out of the locker room to give her 'privacy,' but the rest of place was bustling. People moved through the hallway and he probably felt every glance. It showed too. If the man back from the dead wasn't enough to make people stare, his large, lurking, out of place figure certainly was. They needed to work on going unnoticed. 

Though, his demeanor really didn't matter because his outfit was so outlandish. His uniform had been given an upgrade too, but it looked like it had been crossed with his old stage uniform. More functional for sure, but the colors were the brightest red, white, and blue she had ever seen. His shield, polished and just bright, was strapped on his back with a complicated harness. Like her uniform, someone must have retrieved it. 

The relief showed on his face when he noticed her approaching. 

"Look at that uniform," he said, surprised. 

She realized it was the most modern thing he had seen her wear. There was little room for her vintage flare in a field uniform. The lipstick was as much as she could squeeze in. 

"Me?" she said. "Look at you. What are you wearing?" 

He plucked at the skin-tight material covering his stomach. "I don't really know. It's what they gave me." 

"We must work on that. This is a PR stunt. They want you to be spotted. They want people talking about Captain America again. So there are rumors before some big reveal. Fury is good at all the angles."

"So are you." 

She tossed her head a little. "He did learn from me." 

He smiled but tried to hide it; he wasn't very good at that either. She wanted to kiss him. Missions made for great foreplay, but it would have to wait. He couldn't show up to his first briefing with lipstick on his face. 

Another interruption made sure of that. 

"Ma'am?" 

Peggy turned at the question and she smiled when she saw it was Maria Hill. She had been in the last class of trainees under Peggy's direction and she has still been a gangly junior agent when Peggy had left. Now, she stood in front of Peggy with the confidence of a leader, Fury's right hand from what Peggy had heard. 

"I'm Agent Hill, I'm not sure if you—"

"Oh, I remember even if you were only barely out of training last time I saw you."

"It's been a few years, yes ma'am," Maria said and extended a hand to shake. 

Peggy took it warmly. She had become more of a hugger in her old age, but she would respect the formality of this situation. She didn't want to undermine Maria's authority by treating her as a subordinate. 

"This is Steve Rogers," added Peggy.

"We've met," said Steve. 

"Good to see both of you again," Maria said. 

"Are you running this op?" Peggy said. 

"Yes, ma'am." 

"Then, I think you better drop the ma'am. You're in charge today." 

"God, this is weird." 

"It's the natural order of things. I'm excited to see one of my best and brightest in action again." 

"Thank you, ma'am." Maria blushed slightly but didn't let it change her manner. 

Peggy raised an eyebrow at the address. Maria realized what she had said and laughed at herself. 

"May take a little getting used to. If you follow me, we'll get started." 

She led the way to the hangar where a quinjet was waiting. A group of agents all dressed in tactical gear was already gathered. The all-black always looked strangely out of place in the daylight. It would be night by the time they reached the site. Some of the team was boarding while the others continued to check weapons and other equipment. 

Peggy reached out to lightly touch Steve's forearm to get him to stop. Maria kept moving leaving them at the back of the crowd. 

"Fly safe," she said. This private moment was more of a goodbye than they used to get. 

"You're—you're not coming?" he said as a look of panic flooded his face for just a moment. 

"Oh, um, no. I haven't been in the field in ages."

"And I have?" 

She tried to fake a laugh. "I suppose not. I'll be in command with Agent Hill. We'll be in constant contact. I'm not just sending you off like we used to. It's really a team effort. Command, the field team, we all work together." 

"If you say so."

He sounded so dejected. She hadn't anticipated he would expect her to be there. He knew she had been the director; directors didn't go in the field. He was more nervous than he was letting on. 

Peggy cast around trying to find something that would reassure him. She spotted a redhead in the group. Something exactly like that. 

"Agent Romanov!" she called. 

Natasha turned as if she had been waiting for the summons and Peggy motioned her over. 

"Natasha, this is Steve Rogers," Peggy said with a little flourish. "Steve, this is Natasha Romanov." 

"Ma'am," Steve said. 

"Hi," Natasha said. 

"I'm assigning you as partners," Peggy said and the others both looked surprised. "I know there's usually more time for introductions, but I'm vouching for both of you." She turned to Natasha. "He needs someone to get him up to speed. Things have changed a little since his last mission." Back to Steve. "Just follow her lead."

Natasha nodded once at her instructions. She wouldn’t argue with Peggy's orders. 

Steve, on the other hand, complained. "Carter, I don't need a babysitter."

"I know you don't, but you just admitted you were rusty. Just let her show you the ropes."

He took her elbow and steered her away a few paces. "You know who else could show me the ropes? You." 

"This isn't what I do anymore. I'm not a field agent and haven't been in fifty years. I haven't even been on a mission in over five years, so I'm rusty too. I'll be monitoring." 

"I'd rather have you as my partner." He held Peggy's gaze with a hard stare. "I don't know her." 

"She convinced me to come back," Peggy said softly. 

His eyes flicked over at Natasha, examining her in a new light. 

"Steve, she's one of the best and I trust her." 

Even with the distance separating them, Natasha was obviously listening. The very corners of her mouth turned up at the compliment. He didn't need to know the trust had only been earned less than a week ago.

Peggy continued, "If that's not enough, then—"

He shook his head. "No, that is enough. Alright." He moved back to Natasha. "Partners?" 

"Sure," said Natasha. 

"Good," Peggy said. "Be safe. Both of you." 

"I'll make sure the fossil stays in one piece," said Natasha with her face totally neutral. She waited to see how the joke landed. 

Steve groaned and covered his face with his palm, but he was smiling underneath. Peggy decided they would be just fine. 

Maria was on the ramp of the jet. She cleared her throat. It wasn't a loud sound by all chatting died away at once. 

"Time to go," she said. 

The remaining crowd moved with more purpose including Natasha and Steve. He touched her shoulder and slid his hand down her arm as he walked away. She reached out to stay in contact for as long as they could without her following. He went too far and her arm dropped to her side. 

Peggy hugged her arms across her chest. This got harder ever time. To say goodbye like this after only just finding their way back to each other was torture. More than ever before, she felt her heart go with him. It would beat outside her chest, vulnerable to all forms of injury until he returned it to her. 

"Have fun!" called Peggy as they went. 

Steve glanced over his shoulder and winked. 

Once everyone was stowed and the quinjet's ramp had raised, she headed for the command taking her best guess at the way since she had lost track of Maria. The helicarriers had been Fury's brainchild since day one. She had already transitioned command to him when they had started construction so she had never been on one before. It turned out she had to ask for directions but made it. 

Maria stood on a circular platform in the middle of the window-filled space. Clouds zipped passed the glass or high-strength polymer something or other. They headed east. 

Maria was giving the briefing. "Standard op. Action team will get specific instructions in route, but just so we're all on the same page." She pressed a button on a panel in front of her an image of a man's face appeared on every screen. "As you all know, this is Le Serpent." 

Actually, Peggy didn't know who Maria was referring to, but it hardly mattered. He was the villain of the story. He was completely bald with a finely trimmed black beard, so he looked the part too. Maria did what she could to make him just a man. Using le as part of his name suggested a French pronunciation, but she said it in English so the name—probably chosen to sound intimidating—just sounded silly. He headed a syndicate operating outside of Beirut and they were going to stop him. 

The team was going to raid the facility, arrest everyone there, and confiscate the dangerous weapons and materials. A simple mission probably selected for Steve's first for that very reason. Cut and dry. In and out. However, they didn't send S.H.I.E.L.D. for simple missions. She was sure everything would go sideways. 

And no one ever said Peggy had bad instincts. 

**

Maria shot Peggy a skeptical look over the head of the agent whose screen she was looking at. Peggy shrugged and shook her head back. Neither liked what they were seeing. 

The team had landed and stormed the facility in the hours since Maria's briefing. There was always a hesitation between the takeoff and the landing. The calm before the storm. The space between inhaling and exhaling. Peggy hated it. She had never been particularly good at being left behind, but waiting for the pieces of the game to land in harm's way was agonizing. Not that watching the pieces fight was much better. 

She had blocked it from her mind how hard it was to listen, to watch, to only give ordered and hope they were the right calls. Hope that she was being even remotely helpful from the safety of command. It wasn't even really her place to make the calls today. 

Maria was doing just fine. Peggy wouldn't stand on decorum if it put anyone at risk but nothing about Maria's strategy concerned her. She even shared Peggy's unease. There wasn’t any reason to step in. So, Peggy was only a second pair of eyes. 

She looked back at the screen in front of her. 

“Can I see the blueprints?” she asked Meg Taro, the poor communication agent Peggy had commandeered. 

With a few taps, Taro overlaid a rough outline on top of the video playing from a team member’s the body cam. Little dots of heat signatures moved around the screen. Peggy saw a flash of red, white, and blue in the blurry background and tried to ignore it. 

She studied the imagine, looking for options. 

The issue was the facility had been as good as locked down when the team hit the ground. They were busting through guarded bulkheads to move deeper into the layers of the compound built into a mountain. Each movement forward was met with heavy fire—big guns and lots of rounds. Two S.H.E.I.L.D. agents had already been hit and medical was implying one was probably not going to make it. The resistance would fade after only a short, intense fight. Maybe it was Steve that was helping to end things so quickly, but it felt off to Peggy. The bad guys seemed too prepared and not putting up enough of a fight at the same time. 

The map showed a quarter of a circle with the widest section on the outside. Like spokes on a wheel, passages connected one ring to the next. Peggy squinted at it, trying to see the bigger picture. 

The sound of more gunfire and shouting cut through her concentration. Taro flipped away from the map and relayed positions to Maria. There was a yelp of pain and through the echoing speakers, Peggy couldn't tell whose side it had come from. 

Even in command, the volume pitched upward. Taro wasn’t the only one calling things out. Maria gave the orders. The orders were carried out both by the agents and the team. 

Peggy kept it all in her mind. All the muscles, all the plans, all the movements, who was firing at who. The patterns weren’t as clear or as easy to spot. Her muscles were not the only thing out of practice. And there felt like more at stake today. She needed to be in top form and she just wasn’t. 

She wasn’t useless, though. 

Peggy saw a small movement on a screen and tapped her earpiece to open the channel. “Watch the right side! Down the passage!” 

From where she was standing on the platform, she could see a dozen screens all with different camera angles and nearly all of them jerked in that direction as the team swiveled to meet a new wave of enemies. So far, all attacks had come from the front so there was less cover on the sides. They were nearly caught unprepared. 

A hail of bullets met the newcomers. More shouting. More cries of pain. Then, the shield and its owner barreled through the line, offering protection to the S.H.I.E.L.D. team. 

Someone tossed a grenade. Debris and dust raining down on everyone. Through the cloud, Peggy could see Steve crouching behind his shield. She watched him rise again—statuesque in the gloom—to survey the now blocked passage. 

“Command?” Steve said over the radio. 

“Here. Go ahead,” Peggy said. It was still Maria’s place to answer, but Peggy wanted him to hear her voice. 

“This isn't working. This wasn't what we were expecting.”

“I know. Let us come up with a new plan.” 

“Hold for now,” said Maria. 

There was a flurry of activity as the team divided into two groups, half to say alert, half to get a couple minutes to recuperate. Peggy saw Steve stay at attention. Natasha moved to his side. Peggy hadn’t seen her in a while. 

“Let's see that blueprint again,” Peggy said to Taro. 

“Big,” added Maria. 

It appeared on her screen again and then Taro's entire screen hovered the length of the dais. Nothing had changed except the scale. The team hadn't even moved forward. 

“Here?” asked Peggy, pointing to a junction to double check the team's location. 

Maria and an agent from tactics both agreed. 

“Incoming came of this direction?” Again, she pointed and again they agreed. 

She felt silent. The answer was on the tip of her tongue. It was right there. The flanking attack was new information, a new pattern. She traced route with her finger in the air. There was a second passage near where the team was stopped. So far they had been moving down the main drag. This second passage would have been the first easy deviation from the route. The new attack had been to block anyone going that way. 

“It’s a funnel,” said Peggy. “They're being directed.” 

“I think she's right,” said the tactics agent. 

“She is,” said Maria. 

“The question is why?” said tactics. 

Peggy almost laughed. One conclusion lead inevitably to the next. “Well, it’s almost certainly a trap.” 

Maria was nodding with a grim look on her face. 

“Best way to know it’s a trap is to spring it,” said Peggy. 

Maria’s nodding stopped; she wasn’t ready to agree to that. For all Peggy’s pretense of being the cool, calm, and collected director, she was still more rash than most. 

Maria spoke to the team. “We might have got ourselves into a tight spot. Intel. thinks this might be a trap.” 

“Is there a leak?” someone asked. 

“We have no reason to think so. Serpent was either well prepared or a set up from the beginning,” said Maria. 

“New orders, ma’am?” 

Maria looked back at the map. The team had pushed half way through. Going back was as many steps as going forward, but there might be less resistance going back. Peggy watched her weight the choices. 

“Recommendations?” asked Maria. The team’s opinion mattered since they were the ones in the trap. 

“I don’t think it changes anything,” said Steve. “We just spring it.” 

Peggy tried not to smile as Maria’s head snapped in her direction. 

“I didn’t tell him,” Peggy said. 

The team would listen to Steve. He technically wasn’t in command of the ground forces. That was an agent called Jackson who had asked for the new order. However, the team was following Steve’s lead. It was easy enough to see in the cameras. Even now all faces were pointed to him. 

“One way to know for sure,” said Natasha. 

Maria was shaking her head. The part of the team that wasn’t following Steve’s lead would be following Natasha’s. She was a legend in her own right. 

“Alright, keep going forward,” said Maria. “Knowing might make a difference.” 

“Maybe with fewer explosives,” said Peggy. “See if you can deviate from the path they are driving you to.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” said Jackson. 

The push continued only to be interrupted by another barrage. 

“I’m taking Romanov down the other passage,” came Steve’s voice through the yelling and orders. 

Maria let that piece of information distract her for long enough to consent and to remind them to stay on radio. 

Peggy moved back to Taro’s console. “Why don’t you and I focus on them?” she said. 

She glanced at Maria to make sure she was aware and then Taro flipped the screen to the map again. Two of the heat dots were moving backward. The main party was distorted by a larger blast. The Steve and Natasha dots were paused at the junction, presumably to clear away the rubble. 

“Rogers, Romanov, new channel,” Peggy said and switched her radio over. 

“Here,” said Steve. 

“Roger roger,” said Natasha. 

“Ha ha,” Steve said. 

“How’s it going?” asked Peggy as if they were just having a regular, boring conversation. 

“Well,” said Steve with a heavy grunt. “I've been in nicer places.” 

“You’ve been in worse,” said Peggy. 

“Name one,” said Steve. 

“Russia,” said Natasha and Peggy together. 

“Romanov, aren’t you Russian?” 

“Don’t—“ 

She stopped mid-sentence and Steve called, “Careful!” 

“Don’t hold it against me,” she finished. 

“Everyone alright?” Peggy said. 

“Landslide,” Natasha answered. “We’re through.” 

“God speed.” 

Peggy paced behind Taro. There were no cameras to see by anymore. She could only wait. She saw it in her mind’s eye. The two of them alone in the tight, dim passage. Moving ahead a few yards at a time with gun or shield raised. 

“This is too much,” said Maria loudly. “I’m ordering a retreat.” 

“Agent Hill?” Peggy asked respectfully. She’d lost the thread of the rest of the fighting. 

“Four agents down and we were not ready for this kind of resistance. I’m calling it.” 

Four out of a dozen was too many, even Peggy agreed. But Steve and Natasha were in and away from the rest of the group. There was still valuable intelligence to be gained. 

Peggy stepped up onto the platform again and spoke just to Maria. “And Rogers and Romanov? Shame to wasted opportunity.” 

“Just until the extraction and if they miss the bus, they’re on their own.” 

Peggy pressed her radio again. “The others are pulling out. Stay on task until they’re ready. Hill says if you miss the bus, you’re stuck.” 

There were two clicks to signal understood, but neither spoke. The dots were together and still moving. Something was going on and Peggy could only wait. 

“Peggy?” said Steve after a few minutes. 

Peggy’s heart hammered. She recognized the tone. She had heard him ask the some question in the same voice seventy years ago. Something hadn’t merely happened—something had gone wrong. 

“I'm here.” 

“We found something…” he trailed off. 

“Not on the map,” finished Natasha. 

“Are you alright?” Peggy asked. 

“For now,” said Steve. “We’ve triggered something. Are the other’s safe?” 

“I need a full report if I’m going to bloody help.” 

“Listen, we will be okay. We have to let it go to get out of here. I want to make sure the rest of the team is out before it goes.” 

“What goes?” Peggy said. 

“It’s a device.” 

“An explosive,” Natasha said, giving the honest answer Peggy was after but didn’t want to hear. “It’s some kind of self-destruct for the lab.” 

“Are they safe?” demanded Steve. 

Peggy looked back to Maria. 

“Safe enough,” Maria said. “Get them out of there!” 

“Go!” Peggy called. 

“Three, two, one,” Steve counted. 

There was silence and then there was the sound of an explosion. Most of the agents wearing body cameras were knocked off their feet so all the monitors went haywire. The sound had only traveled through their radios. Even from the safe-enough distance parts of the compound fell down around them. Peggy had to yank her earpiece out to keep from getting deafened and she wasn’t the only one. She put it back in and called Steve’s name. 

There was no answer. 

“Steve Rogers, don’t you dare do this to me again,” she yelled. “You answer me now!” 

No answer. The fight left her. She didn’t care that there was an entire command center watching her. A shaky breath escaped. This was exactly what she had been afraid of. 

“Two days,” she said over the radio. “It’s not enough time. Please, Steve. Answer me.” 

The radio squealed and there was heavy coughing. “I’m here,” said Steve. “Natasha is out cold and we're trapped. We’re gonna need some help.” 

“I’m coming, darling.” 

Peggy looked Maria. Technically, she needed permission. Maria gestured toward the exit. Peggy heard orders to hold the extraction team as she tore from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peggy's uniform is based on [this](http://agentofvalue.tumblr.com/post/144504144554/thingsfortwwings-vylla-art-for-atwellling).


	7. Reprisal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight mentions of violence and blood.

Peggy was out of her seat before the quinjet touched down. The complicated harness was no match for her haste. She moved to the back ready to be the first out when they hit the ground at a run. There were still hostiles in the area defending what was left of the facility, keeping them from their people. The ramp would lower as the landed and they would come out firing. 

"Agent! Wait!" someone called. 

She had been reaching for the door controls and her weapon. 

"What?" she snapped. 

The rest of the extraction team was getting into position along with the agent who had spoken. He was tall and plain looking. 

"Stay here until the extraction team clears the area. We have more gear on," he said in an authoritative tone, but also with a smile, like one made up for the other. 

It was patronizing. This young man didn't realize who he was speaking to. He saw a young woman, a twenty-something agent. He didn't know she was ninety-two and the founder of the very organization he worked for. She looked beyond him to the team. Most wouldn't meet her eye and the rest looked a little scared. He was probably team leader, but no one outranked her. 

Peggy forced herself to take a deep, calming breath. It didn't help much, but it reminded her where she was, who she was. She had been jumping the gun and it would get someone else hurt. Herself at best and one of the team members at worst. They were in enemy territory. This was a battle. 

Just as it wasn't her place to run the operation, it wasn't her place to lead the charge. It didn't matter how badly she wanted to reach Steve. The extraction team didn't need to be worried about someone unprotected running off into the night. They didn't need to think about trying to protect someone not equipped for this kind of fight. They needed someone to give them all the help they could get. They needed a director. 

"You make a valid point," Peggy said. "However, you are not the one giving orders here." 

He looked confused. "Sorry, what? I wasn't given instruction on your role here."

"If you need to radio Agent Hill for clarification, go ahead. I'm on point. That's all you need to know. Get in position." 

He followed her orders. Peggy was still feeling out of practice, but she had learned a long, long time ago how to order men about. He seemed to fall into place without realizing it. 

She moved out of the way to let the team with all their extra layers of protection assemble by the exit. She would let his teammates educate him. 

"Bennett," someone else hissed. "That's Director Carter. You know that, right?" 

"Director—oh shit." 

Peggy didn't look in his direction. She didn't want some apology. This wasn't about pride. The chain of command was important because she wouldn’t put this search and rescue in anyone else's hands. She wouldn't be questioned by a man young enough to be her great-grandchild. 

The pilot called out the touchdown. 

On her order, the door lowered, and the team spilled out. Their only cover was the darkness. The ramp only went down about half way so each person when up and over. With luck, they landed on two feet and already firing. 

They were brave these S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. Moving forward when they should run. Fighting to save their teammates. She felt a small swell of pride. Perhaps her teachings had a little something to do with it. Just maybe. She didn't know what she'd do without them. 

Chatter burst to life on her radio and, from the safety of the quinjet, she directed the team. There was a screen like the ones on a helicarrier above with heat sensitive technology so the every living thing lit up like a Christmas tree. It was easy enough to pick out who was one which side. 

It didn't take too long for the team to clear most of the field until they were pinned down by one gunman with decent cover. It was an easy enough problem for Peggy to solve. 

She took out her gun again and loaded a bullet into the chamber. She moved to the edge of the ramp, keeping low until she was on her stomach at the edge. Gone were the days of using her compact to check around corners. The heat signatures told her exactly where the enemy was and the height gave her the advantage. 

The poor chap didn't stand a chance. Peggy fired once, and the scene went quiet. 

Nimbly, she dropped over the ramp and landed on her toes to the absorb some of the stock. She ducked low again and met up with the others. 

"Nice shot," said Bennett when she reached them. 

She ignored the comment. "Secure the area," she said. "We need a clear path from the compound to the jet. Then find me an entrance." 

He motioned and a few agents disappeared into the night. 

Peggy surveyed the scene from behind the crop of rock they were using as cover. Around them were the outlines of mountain peaks and valleys against the sky, covered in trees, terraced, and stretching as far as she could see. In the middle of what should have been a tranquil setting was a giant, gaping maw. The compound had been mostly underground, so now there was a crater where it used to be. It went straight down exposed layers of earth and structure. Water rushed from someone; other things still burned. The fires cast enough light to see by. 

And Steve was buried somewhere in the middle of it all. 

She rose slowly and moved a few paces away from the group. She tapped her radio to switch to the channel she had last talked to Steve on. 

"Steve?" she said. 

Nothing but static. This was all too familiar. It wasn't the same she told herself. She had heard his voice. He was alive; she had to remind herself or be paralyzed. The difference was she was no longer using the helicarrier's system. There was interference and a thousand other things down here. Still, she worried. 

The bad guys weren't hard to pick off, but there were a lot of them, an infinite amount it seemed. 

More gunfire—aimed in their direction—rang out and Peggy ducked. There were answering blasts and things went quiet again. 

"I said to secure the area!" she barked out. 

There were a few mutterings of 'sorry, ma'am.' 

"I don't want sorry—I want a secure scene." 

The agents still nearby straightened their backs. More voices over the radio called out stern orders and another volley of shots echoed over the packed earth. It was handled neatly. 

Maybe Peggy was a little out of practice, but she wasn't useless. The agents responded, and they had a secure perimeter. 

"Carter?" Maria's voice said over the radio. 

"Here, Agent Hill. Go ahead." 

"Movement to the northeast of your position." 

"Understood. Friend or foe?" 

"They all look like dots from up here." 

Peggy held back her quip. She wasn't in the mood for radio banter. 

She relayed the information to the rest of the team and she moved out with four of the tactical agents, skirting around the edges and staying low. 

What they found lifted her heart just a little bit. Looking very much worse for wear was the original team. Bedraggled, covered in dust, and very much leaning on one another, but there. 

Guns on all sides went up and lowered at once. 

"I'm Agent Carter," Peggy said and saw the recognition blink in a few eyes. "Where have you all been?" 

She sounded like a mother whose child had arrived late for super. It earned her a few smiles or half-smiles at least. The extraction team was already moving to take positions, to guard, to help support. 

"I asked you lot a question." 

"The ceiling fell on us, ma'am," someone piped up. 

"Excuses, excuses." 

A few more half-smiles. 

It wasn't just the agents who were putting on a brave face. She was relieved to find the group, but there was two people still missing. 

"We're down two," said the agent. "Cap and Romanov went to find a way around. They knew the explosion was coming." 

"I know, Agent," Peggy said. "What's your name?" 

The agent straightened her back just like the others had at being addressed by Director Carter. 

"Rebecca Nobel, ma'am." 

"Why don't you," she pointed to two of the extraction team, "you two, and I go find them. How do I get in?" 

Nobel looked eager, ready and willing to help rescue Captain America and the Black Widow. 

"Ma'am, that's not a good idea," Bennett said. 

Her question hadn't been an actual question. She liked to leave room for discussion. There were probably circumstances she wasn't aware of. She wasn't a dictator, but it hadn't been a suggestion. She hadn’t posed it that way to be shut down by someone who had fewer years in his life than she had years of experience. 

"We still have people inside," Peggy said. 

"I understand, but we should wait for the engineers. There’s interference with the sensors and we don't know where they are or what might fall on us or who else is down there." 

"How do we get in?" Peggy repeated. 

“I really don’t—”

"Oh do be quiet," she said. 

She didn't have the patience. Her nerves were worn thin with worry and fear and the fact she had literally jumped back into the fray. 

Bennett's lips pressed together. His jaw clenched, but he was silent. 

Nobel looked between the two of them. She chose Peggy and answered the question. 

"Stay with them," Peggy said to the remaining extraction team as she prepared to move out. "Get them moving. I want everyone ready to take off when we pick up the stragglers." 

A few 'yes, ma'ams' came her way, including one from Bennett. 

She didn't blame him for trying to hold on his position as team leader. She had faced men like him her entire career. It was human nature to cling to power. It didn't make it any less frustrating, though. 

She left him behind and followed the small strike team through the rubble. 

Nobel led them to a small hole that led into the mess of twisted passage and down they went. It was slow going. They had to pick their way over and under the fallen bits of the facility in the half-light. There were many false steps. Peggy kept the map in her mind's eye but there was only so much that matched up. 

She held up a hand in a fist as they reached a completely cave in. The others stopped. She heard something on the other side of a blockage. The only sound had been their footsteps so the crunching rock had been obvious. She didn't want whoever was on the other side to know they were there. 

Nobel moved in front of Peggy with her rifle raised to her cheek. They waited. 

There was a clear grunt and Peggy's heart soared. She was certain she recognized the voice. It was the louder version of the noises Steve made in bed. She didn't move from her position. She also wasn't certain it wasn't wishful thinking. 

There was a crash and a large slab tumbled away. The strike team was forced to jump back. Nobel had to pull Peggy with her. 

Despite the commotion, only a small opening had appeared. Framed in it was Steve's face. 

Peggy pushed passed the others and emerged from the gloom where he could see her. 

His face brightened and an absurd smile spread across his face. 

“Hey, soldier,” she said. “Fancy meeting you here.” 

“One of my favorite watering holes. I'm here all the time.” 

“We figured you were comfortable. We stopped to see a film on the way.” 

She reached through the opening and he kissed her palm and held it against his face. She brushed her thumb along his cheek, not caring the others might see. 

“See what kind of trouble you get into without me,” she said and her tone lowered. 

“Peg, it was your idea to stay behind.” 

“Well, it was a stupid idea.” 

“She admits fault.” 

She took her hand away. “Just this once. How's Natasha?” 

“Awake, but injured. We got her out of the first hole but now we're stuck. I've been working on this blockage for a while and this is as far as I got.” 

“We've got explosives.” 

“Swell.” 

“Let's get you out of here.” 

Steve's face pulled back from the opening and she got a clearer view of the other side. Natasha was sitting off to the side with her elbows on her knees and her head hanging down. She was as battered as everyone else, but she was upright. 

Steve helped her up, and they walked slowly down the passage to a bend. Once they disappeared, Peggy backed away from the opening so Noble could set up the C4. Then, the strike team moved to a safer distance. They had no corner within the range of the remote, so they pressed against the wall. 

“Fire in the hole!” yelled Peggy and pulled the trigger. 

Everything shook for a moment and she felt a wave of heat. The blast echoed in her ears and it took a moment for her actually hear the dislodged debris falling. She was first to scramble through the opening. 

She reached the bend where Steve was trying to get Natasha motivation. She'd slumped back to the floor. 

Peggy motioned for him to leave her for a moment and bent down. She lifted Natasha's head by the chin. It was obvious at once the girl had a severe concussion. Her eyes were entirely unfocused and half her face was covered in blood from a gash from whatever had hit her. 

“Romanov,” Peggy said firmly. 

Natasha's gaze slid slowly to Peggy's face. “Director.” 

“Does anything besides your head hurt?” 

“Too complicated. Ask another.” 

"Non-compliant, but answering questions," Peggy said to Steve as if he didn't already know. 

Natasha pushed Peggy's hand away. “ _Khristos_ , I’m okay.” 

There it was. That was the attitude Peggy was after. 

"Then up you get," she ordered. 

Natasha listened, but Steve had to catch her elbow to keep her from toppling over again. 

" _Golova kruzhitsya_ ," said Natasha. 

“That’s Russian, dear,” said Peggy. “I’m rusty.” 

Natasha focused. “I’m dizzy.” 

"You've had a good whack on the head. It's understandable,” Steve said. “Hang onto me.”

He put his arm around Natasha's waist and she leaned against him. They set off for the surface. 

The group lapsed into silence with everyone focusing on the slow move back through the tunnel. 

Peggy looked at Steve and he was already trying to catch her eye. She raised her eyebrows, and he nodded. 

He was still alright. 

She was back in her memories, reliving all the missions when they had to act like they weren’t together. When she had to act as if his wasn't the first face she looked for in a group of walking wounded. Reached out to him as she had done was the greatest luxury. To touch him, to believe him when he said he was okay. There had been a time when she could only give him a look, could only meet his eye. In the one glance, they had needed to ask a thousand questions and have to wait until they were alone for the real answers. And being alone sometimes took days. 

There was being physically fine and then there was the rest of it. The parts one didn't talk about in public, the questions one didn't ask. The parts that made her want to pull him close. The parts that made her feel safe only when wrapped in an embrace. There was so much she wanted to tell him too.

"How's the rest of the team?" he asked. 

"Alive when we last saw them. Hopefully heading back to the helicarrier by now,” she said. 

“We miss the _samolet_?” asked Natasha. 

Peggy had to run through her Russian dictionary again before she figured out what Natasha was asking and even then it was mostly a guess. The word meant plane. 

“There's another quinjet waiting just for you,” Peggy said. 

They reached the opening again and as soon as they got close their radios had filled with chatter. There was another firefight happening. Half the team was still trying to get to a jet and the other half wasn't taking off without them. 

Peggy reached for Natasha, taking her weight from Steve. 

“Go,” she said. 

He brushed his fingers along her forearm as he disappeared up the tunnel with the shield at the ready and the two from the extraction team on his heels. 

Natasha didn't even try to go with him, which was worrying. They had to get to the medical bay on the helicarrier. Peggy was sure half the agents needed to get to the medical bay. 

This mission had become a disaster. 

She wanted everyone out of here and safe. 

The fight was being handled as Noble, Natasha and Peggy emerged. Captain America tipped any scale. 

Hill's voice rang over the radios and the noise as she ordered the first quinjet to take off. With the stragglers above ground, there was nothing for the second jet to wait. The first could take off and the second would be right behind. They didn't need to hold the position anymore. 

The engines fired, sending a gust of wind across the space between the landing site and the hole. 

Peggy set Natasha down on a pile of rocks. Noble took off to the join the fighting. It wasn't finished yet, and they still needed space to get the last of the team—injured among them—to the second jet. 

Steve came back to them and put himself between them and the fighting. He held the shield like an umbrella. With his free hand, he reached for Natasha. She turned in the same direction as he bore her weight again. They were both facing Peggy with their backs to the quintets. 

They didn't see it. 

They didn't see the missile launch. They didn't see the jet tip at the last second so the projectile missed the wing. They didn't see the mathematical arc it took in their direction. There wasn't time for them to even turn their heads. 

It was a cliche, but time slowed to an absolute crawl. If she had been less experience, Peggy might have thought she had all the time in the world to escort Natasha and Steve to a safe location. They had their backs to it; they hadn't even seen it. Steve was holding the shield over his head and a little behind him, keeping his vulnerable rear protected. He was probably worried about bullets. Natasha sat beside him, too unaware due to her head injury to realize anything was vulnerable. She was exposed, unprotected, as Peggy was. 

And that was the rub. 

She had a second to decided. With a mighty shove, she pushed Natasha under the umbrella of the shield. She knocked into Steve, but he caught her and they both tumbled over. 

It was all there was time for and Peggy could only hope it was enough. 

The explosion reached them. 

Peggy lost track of which was up and which was down. She was doing cartwheels in the back garden with Michael. He had said he could do more in a row than her and she wouldn’t let him beat her. No, sir. Surely he had stopped by now. She heard shouting, and it had to be his defeated cries. She collapsed, so dizzy she was going to be sick. Or was that because of the pain? Why did it hurt so much? This was England; it rained all the time. The grass should be a soft place to land. She had learned to do a cartwheel back here, fallen a thousand times. She'd counted. But this hurt; it hurt so much. 

"Michael," she said. "Something isn't right." 

She heard her voice as a dry crackling sound and remember she wasn't a little girl anymore. And this wasn't her back garden with a grassy place to land. 

Peggy opened her eyes in a war zone. She was flat on her back, staring up a sky obscured by smoke. She coughed as air rushed back into her lungs for the first time in too long. If there had been pain before, it was nothing to what bloomed across her body now. She tried to cry out, but it died in her throat as the expanding of her ribs sent another ripple. 

She looked over at the source and saw a long, sharp triangle of metal sticking out of her side. It was covered in red. 

" _Not again_ ," she thought with resignation. 

She didn't seem to be stuck to anything which was a slight improvement over the rebar incident. 

Still, she couldn't move. Breathing was too much. Every moment of her torso was too much. Every heartbeat pushed more of her lifeblood out of her body and she felt it. It soaked her through her clothes, hot and sticky. 

The scene swam before her eyes as she fought unconsciousness. She wanted to go back to doing cartwheels. Go back to Michael. Go back to being a girl when nothing mattered but showing up her big brother. It would be so easy...just for a moment. 

Someone was shouting. She heard loud pops, and she took a moment to remember what gunfire sounded it. 

The loud voice seemed to be directed at her. It was coming closer. She heard the ping of metal against metal. The sharp sound was louder than anything going on around her. So familiar. She shouldn't recognize that sound. God, this was so confusing. She closed her eyes; there was a little comfort in the darkness. 

She felt something heavy drop next to her. A dull thump that echoed across her body in pain from the slight vibrations in the ground. 

"Oh God," a breathless voice said. "Oh God, oh God, Peggy. Please no." 

She opened her eyes again. A face had appeared above her and she recognized that too. Steve. He shouldn't be here. He saw her looking at him and sighed with relief.

"Thank God," said Steve. "C'mon, let's get the hell out of here." 

More pops. 

"I need cover!" he screamed, ducking down over her protecting her with his body and his shield. 

Answering pops. Another ping of metal on metal. 

"Can you move?" he asked. 

"There's—" She didn't have the breath to explain. 

He had been too focused on the bullets to notice the shrapnel, but now he looked her over. He touched her side without going near the wound and she flinched as the pressure tugged at her skin. His hands came away red. 

"Don't," she said and gasped in pain at the small movement. 

"We have to get you out of here. I'm sorry." 

He didn't wait for her to respond. He swung his shield behind him so it attached to the harness on his back and she realized what he was going to do a second before he lifted her off the ground. 

The pain was beyond description. There were no words to adequately explain it. Pain hurt. It was both oversimplified and too complex a statement. The rebar had been brutal, but, even with two entrances, each wound was only an inch. This chunk of metal was as wide as her hand and razor sharp and wedged deeply between two of her ribs. 

There was no graceful way to pick a fully grown adult up off the ground. Steve had one arm under her knees and the other beneath her shoulders and the shrapnel facing outward. It was the only way, but he jostled her, using strength and momentum to get her up. 

She heard herself let out a wild groan, something between a roar and a tearing sound. She ribs spread at the involuntary cry and there was more pain. 

"I know, sweetheart. I know," he soothed. 

He held her much like he had the night before. It had been a comfort then and some of the same feeling crept in. She was safe. He would make sure. She trusted him. He had asked her to come, and she came. She needed help, and he was there. 

“ _Just be there_ ,” she had told him. He was this time. 

It did nothing to ebb the pain. She was actually no safer. But, she wasn’t alone. 

She closed her eyes and leaned her head against his chest. She heard his heart beat like a creature trapped in a cage, but she had to have imagined it. 

The light changed, but she couldn't bring herself to open her eyes. The dark sky gave away to bright artificial light. They must be on the quinjet, but she was hardly aware enough to register it. 

More pain as he put her down. She didn't have the strength to keep her head up, and it flopped to one side against the cold floor. 

"Please, Peggy," he said. 

Her eyes fluttered open. He was out of focus, but unmistakable. 

"Help her," he said in a choked voice to someone. 

He started to stand and she caught his wrist as he had done to keep her in bed. Was that only yesterday? 

"I'm not leaving," he said, and it was a promise. 

"The—others? My agents, are they—safe? Natasha?" 

"Natasha is here. The rest will be fine. On their way." 

She let go. "Get them home." 

"I won't leave—"

"Go!" She sucked in a breath to make the word sound like an order and nearly passed out from the pain. "Go," she repeated. 

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. 

"Two days is not enough to time," he said. "Hold on." 

Then he was gone again, dashing back down the ramp, and already pulling the shield off his back. 

Someone else took her hand as the medic got to work. He packed the wound. They would remove the metal in surgery like they should've removed the rebar. Peggy moaned in pain through gritted teeth. The world was swimming again.

Natasha scooted closer. She sat on one floor and with one foot tucked beneath her and the other knee raised and under her cheek, taut and ready to spring. Her other hand held a gun. Her brain was too rattled to properly help, but she wouldn’t let anything else happen. 

She squeezed Peggy's hand and Peggy squeezed back. 

" _Thanks_ ," said Natasha's. 

" _You're welcome_ ," answered Peggy's. 

**

There wasn’t anywhere to sit in the hallway outside of the operating suite, so Steve leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. He wouldn’t be any farther away than he had to be. He wouldn’t leave her. Not again. 

If Peggy died, it would be his fault. She had come back for him. She had come on the mission for him. She had put her boots on the ground for him. It was all because of him. He shouldn’t have let her. He had been so selfish; he had been so happy to have her along. Like old times, the times he was so desperate to get back. He had wished for a war and got one. Only he wasn’t the one paying for it. 

Her blood was still on his uniform. 

He pulled his knees up and hugged them to his chest. 

He didn't even really understand what was happening. So much had changed. They were helping her. He didn't doubt that, but all looked so different. This wasn't some tent in a field; it was a state of the art hospital on a flying ship. Techniques, drugs, the tube down her throat, it was just—he didn't know what the right word was—scary. Then, they rushed her through a set of doors and he wasn't allowed to follow. 

So, he waited. 

“There are more comfortable places to sit,” said Natasha. 

She had been patched up and given a shower. All the awful blood had been washed away and her hair was still damp. There were two neat, butterfly stitches over the gash on her forehead. She was still dressed in all black, but it seemed like they were her clothes—a black t-shirt and black jeans. 

People had been walking by so he hadn’t realized specifically who had been approaching. He wasn’t surprised, though. He shrugged. 

“You look better,” he said. 

“I’m not in a hole anymore.” 

“Fair point. How’s your head?” 

“It hurts. Did you let anyone look at you?” 

He shook his head. 

“Go. Get checked out and cleaned up. I’ll wait.” 

He shook his head again. “I can’t.” 

She didn’t argue like he was expecting her to. She sat down next to him without another word. 

After a while, Natasha leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. 

“Are you supposed to fall asleep?” he asked. 

She shushed him. He bounced his shoulder a little. 

“I thought you weren't supposed to let people with head injuries sleep.” 

“You're monitoring me, aren't you?” 

“I don't know what to do.” In more ways than one. He hoped she took that a face value. 

She sat up and he knew she hadn’t. “Are you worried? Carter will be fine. She's been through worse than this. She's tough. Besides, those doctors aren't going to make any mistakes. They have a lot riding on this personally and professionally.”

“Romanov,” he said with reproach.

“What? She's as much a legend in this world as you are. No one will let anything happen to her.”

He didn’t answer. He had let something happen to her, and he was the one who was supposed to care about her the most. 

“This this why we're sitting on the floor until our asses fall asleep?”

“I just want to be close by.” 

“It's not a punishment, is it?” 

She was too smart. She read him and knew what he was thinking. 

“Rogers, this isn't your fault. It's the risk of a mission and she knows that.” 

“ _Then stop blaming yourself. Allow Barnes the dignity of his choice._ " Peggy's exact words the day Bucky had died and it was what Natasha was saying today in a different way. 

He had used the sentiment against Peggy as they spoke over the radio. She had respected his choice that day, and it had changed her life. He sure as hell owed her the same. She thought he was worth it; she thought Natasha was worth it. 

She put her head back on his shoulder. 

“Thanks,” he said. “I needed to hear that.” 

“This isn’t about you, Rogers.” 

"You're right, but I still owe you one."

"Other way around," she said.

He didn't agree. He'd been the one who'd gone poking around. He'd been the one who'd triggered the bomb. He'd done his best to protect her when the wall came crashing down and even then they got separated in the slide. She'd been trapped because of him. 

"Don't think so," he said. "I'm the out who put in the hole so it's only fair I got you out." 

" _Vse khorosho_."

"You're speaking Russian again." 

"That was on purpose. It means we're all good."

After a while, he thought she actually might have fallen asleep. He wasn’t about to close his eyes. 

A shadow fell over them and Steve glanced up at Hill. 

“Captain,” she said. 

He scrambled to his feet, pulling Natasha with him. She groaned and rubbed her eyes. 

“Romanov,” said Hill, “I thought you were told to organize a shuttle home.” 

“I'm confused, concussed,” Natasha said. “Can't be trusted to follow orders.” 

Hill raised an eyebrow but didn't push it. “The surgery was a success,” she said instead. “They'll be bringing Director Carter to a room in a moment.” 

Steve didn't question how she knew before he had. She'd got a call or had been watching on some camera. He was waiting for the proof. Everyone kept acting like he didn't know there were other places to wait. He wanted to see Peggy. 

His wish was answered as the doors to the operating suite flapped over and a gurney pushing through. 

And there she was. 

Still unconscious, but still a sight for sore eyes. She was sleeping rather than passed out like she had been when he carried her from the quinjet to the waiting medical team when they came got back to the helicarrier. The pain and the drugs the medic had on hand made her blissfully unaware. 

He bounced on the spot, wanting to follow but also not wanting to be rude. Hill had probably come to talk about something. 

“Go,” she said gently. “I’ll find you in a little bit.” 

He left Hill and Natasha behind to walk beside the gurney. 

He reached for her hand but stopped himself. “Can I…?” he said to the orderly. 

The man nodded like he couldn’t care less. 

He took her hand. “Two days really isn’t enough. I’m here, Peg.” 

**

Peggy woke in a hospital bed. She was groggy and vaguely aware of what had happened. It was all the distance haze. Flashes of face—mainly Steve’s—and changing locations. She remembered waking a few times with doctors and nurses around her and someone shoving a small remote for pain medication into her hand. Gone were the days where she had to tough it out on her own. She took the drugs and gave herself a few hours of rest. 

But now, she felt worlds different. The fog was lifting. She blinked against the light coming through sunny windows. She took a few shallow breaths, testing boundaries. Most of her right side was stiff, probably stitched and bandaged. It didn't hurt as badly when chest expanded. Though 'as badly' was a relative term, she was on the mend. She did lift her head a little off the pillow. 

Steve was beside her as she expected him to be. His fists were clenched one on top of the other and his forehead rested on the stack. He hadn't changed out of his uniform. The red, white, and blue, was stained and dirty. The only part of his skin she could really see was the back of his neck and it was equally filthy. She was both charmed and a little disgusted. 

Night had turned into a day and he hadn't left. Through surgery and as she slept, he had stayed with her. 

Taking care not move her torso, she reached out and ran her fingers through his hair. She needed to test if he was real and not the result of the pain medication. 

He started and sat up like he'd been caught sleeping during lessons. 

"Peggy," he said with reverence and a small sigh. 

"Hi," she said. 

"Docs say you're gonna be okay." 

“Always am.” She tried to smile, but the look on his face was pained. 

He took her hand and, just like he had in the tunnel, kissed her palm and held it to his cheek. 

“I thought—just for a second,” he said. 

He closed his eyes and Peggy said nothing. It wasn’t time to point out the obvious. She wouldn’t point out she had, in fact, thought he had been dead for the past seventy years. 

He cleared his throat and let go. 

“Is Natasha alright?” she asked when he could look at her again. 

“A couple of stitches and a concussion. She's around her somewhere—won't go home.” 

“Everyone else?” 

“Don't worry about that now. Just rest.” 

“I can't rest until I know.” 

“Lost one. One had to go back into surgery. Everyone else will be fine.” 

Peggy sighed and looked away. One lost in that mess wasn't as bad as it could be, but it was still too many. She knew the message Maria would have to deliver. A child, a partner, lost and nothing would be the same again. She knew what both sides felt like. 

“It’s all going to be okay,” he said as much to himself as to her. 

"I didn't mean to scare you,” she said. 

“It’s a taste of my own medicine, I guess." 

There was an uncomfortable pause. It was exactly what she had tried to avoid. It was exactly what she had wanted to protect her heart from. He knew it; she knew it. And she forgave him for it. 

"We'll call it even for today,” she said. “Were you hurt? Is there a medical reason you haven't bathed yet?" 

He made a face of exaggerated offense. “You know what, Carter? You don't have to be like that. I sit here all night because I want to sure you're okay and what do I get in return? Sass, that's what." 

He circled an arm behind her head and leaned closer. He kissed her so gently. 

“I’ll take that as a yes, you’re okay,” she said. 

He nodded. 

“Good. I think I want to close my eyes again,” she said. “Just for a moment.” 

“You only get one moment.” 

Peggy's eyes were getting heavy. “Alright, mister.” 

“Don’t worry—I’ll be right here.” 

“Go bathe." 

He laughed, and she fell back to sleep listening to the sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I think there's probably one more part in this, so stay tuned for the stunning conclusion! 
> 
> I also hope everyone appreciates Peggy recognizing Steve by his sex noises. I, at least, made myself laugh with that.


	8. Resolve

Peggy gazed up the stairs to the third-floor walk up and decided it might as well be a mountain. She gave herself the moment to be overwhelmed while Steve got the bags from the taxi. She was alone in the hallway. 

Her hallway. 

She owned the building, but she hadn’t been here in years. It was both familiar and strange. It was another brownstone by the park in Brooklyn with four units including a basement. The top floor was reserved for her use and the others paid for upkeep and financed some of her nomadic lifestyle. She had stolen the idea from S.H.I.E.L.D. 

It smelled the same, like home. Even though she didn't think of it as home, it had the indefinable smell she only noticed the first time she entered. She smelled it in the linens if she buried her nose deeply. It lingered on her clothes after she left. Yet, she couldn't articulate a single note. 

She felt safe here; it was her bunker. No matter what happened she had a place to run. No matter what happened she would always have a place to hide. Brooklyn was the obvious choice for a bolthole, but shell companies within shell companies kept her name off the legal documents. It shouldn’t be traceable. No one, not even Tony, had known about it. Well, the lawyer who managed it knew. 

And now she was back. With Steve Rogers. And inviting him in. 

It had been two days since the mission and the surgery and she was barely back on her feet. Not that she would admit it. She tried to listen to the doctors; she tried to stay in bed. They claimed to understand her history, but they showed no evidence that they believed it. That or they only wanted to poke and prod her and she had had quite enough of that in her long life. 

So, she pushed herself to get back on solid ground. The floating hospital in the sky had lost its charm. 

She had to prove—under medical supervision—she could walk, and despite even Steve’s reluctance, they released her. It had only taken a little of her charm to convince them. She’d won Steve over when she mentioned staying at her apartment as a third option after his apartment and Stark Tower. 

It had taken a few hours to organize the shuttle back to New York, but that gave her enough time to arrange for the apartment to be opened. 

She checked in with Tony. She had spoken to him a few times to explain where she had gone without letting on exactly how much she had been injured. He probably guessed despite her assurances the doctors were not just being overly cautious. He, at least, didn’t try to convince her to stay. Just made her promise to let her know when she was settled wherever she was going. 

Maria stopped by respectfully after Peggy was dressed in street clothes and not the hospital gown. She had information on the improvements to the nano-molecular something or other that might remove the scar when it was fully healed. She wanted to make sure Peggy got the information so what was the best way to get in touch? Peggy gave her an email address and told her Fury would have to try harder than that. 

When everyone was out of subtle hints, the quinjet took her and Steve to a private airport where a private car was waiting to take them back to the city. The car ride was miserable for her. Every turn, every bump echoed across her entire body. She did her best to keep it off her face, but she knew Steve saw through her. 

The driver left them at the S.H.I.E.L.D. apartment. While Steve dashed upstairs to retrieve what they had left, she hailed a cab. Another miserable car ride later, they stopped outside her brownstone. Normally, she would have employed counter-surveillance techniques instead of boldly getting dropped off at the curb, but she wasn’t in the mood. Ensuring the phone S.H.I.E.L.D. had provided Steve was switched off had to be enough. She left her own on. Natasha could still track Peggy’s data, but she trusted Natasha implicitly by now and she wanted Tony to be able to reach her. 

From a lockbox attached to the wrought-iron fence in front of the building where they were always waiting for her, she had removed the keys, gone inside. Now, she was facing the uphill climb. The half a dozen steps up to the front door had been bad enough and next would be three full steep flights. 

“You okay?” Steve said as he joined her. 

“Yes,” she said and still didn’t move. 

“Are we…” He pointed up the stairs. 

“Yes.” 

“Top floor?” 

“Yes.”

He opened his mouth, and she braced for whatever his well-meaning but ultimately unwanted suggestion might be. 

“One step at a time, right?” he said and held out his hand. 

She took it and kisses the back, leaving behind a smudge of red lipstick. 

“Right,” she said. 

It was slow going. The elevation made her body move in the ways it didn't like. He was patient and never let go. He stayed one step ahead of her and acted as ballast. She held onto him but it was the banister she gripped tightly. The banister she had restored herself one spindle at a time. 

With her hair covered in the blue handkerchief, she had sat on each step to sanded and stain each inch of wood. It had taken her days to complete all the floors. 

During her retirement, before she left, she had worked hard to restore the building. The bare minimum had been maintained by the previous owner. There had been lots to update and redesign. Some things, like the banister, she had done herself and other were handled by a contractor. She had stopped by every day to check on the progress. It had been a side project she had become very proud of despite never showing it or even telling anyone about it. 

She had never even properly lived in the building. She had stayed there more than once, though. The longest period had been when Tony had gone missing and she come back to New York to coordinate the search, but that meant she showered, changed, maybe slept the bare minimum of hours before rushing back to the office. It wasn't really living. 

Steve would be her first guest and she was inordinately nervous. Maybe nervous wasn't the right word. Maybe it was shy. 

The decoration was very personal. She had decided not to hide the fact it was her apartment. If someone connected it to her, well, there was no point in denying it. 

It was a two-bedroom. Though, the second bedroom was set up as an office. There was a skylight running the length of the combined kitchen and living room. It had been raining the day she had seen it for the first time and she had liked the way the drops had sounded on the glass. It played a part in her decision to buy the place and was the reason she had picked the top floor for herself despite the three-floor walk-up. 

Everything was done in rich, earthy tones and dark woods. The furniture was meant to be functional and comfortable, and the bookshelves held all her favorites. The art was photographs of England and the places she had traveled. Tucked a little into a corner was a section devoted to her commendations. Awards and medals from her many years of service hung in a shadow box beside a black-and-white photo of herself in uniform with all the rest of the Howling Commandos. 

At last at the top of the stairs, she unlocked the door to the apartment itself and stepped inside. 

She scanned the space before moving further in and allowing Steve to follow. Everything was in its place and spotless. Things were a little too in place in fact. The surfaces were bare. There was no mail on the table, no shoes by the door, no dishes in the drying rack. The kitchen chairs were equally spaced. A throw blanket was smartly folded over the back of the armchair. The pillows were neatly fluffed. It looked like a magazine. 

Peggy was not a messy person, but she rarely had time to put things away. Items found a place, and that was where they lived. Spick and span, but lived in. Her home was always lived in. Her place away from the madness of the rest of her life where she curled up and went to sleep. 

She glanced over her shoulder at Steve. That was what she wanted: to curl up in his arms and go to sleep. It would have to wait a little while longer. 

“Well, welcome,” she said, stopping just inside. 

He took a moment to take it all in before speaking. "It's beautiful. I can't believe you let me take you to that empty apartment." 

"No one knows it exists. I've never had a guest before." 

He looked down at her without saying anything. She felt so small when he did that. 

She looked away and started towards the kitchen. "Can I offer you anything?" 

"Peggy." 

She stopped and turned back to him. "What?" 

"Sit down. I'm not really a guest. You don't have to play hostess." 

She brushed past him and into the kitchen. “I’m fine,” she said with a wave of her hand. “The management company should have stocked a few essentials.” 

She reached up to open a cabinet and gasped, nearly doubling over at the shot of pain. 

He was beside her in a single step. His fingers twitched as if he was desperate to lift her up again. 

“I don’t think you should have left the hospital,” he said in a rush like he had been holding it in all day. 

“Don’t fuss,” she said, but there was no hiding the amount of pain she was in. 

She had twisted wrong. She was still hunched over, holding her side. This was all too familiar. 

She suddenly felt guilty for not keep her word to Sousa. Though, it had been sixty years in between incidents so it was a pretty good run. 

She took a deep breath and came out shaky. She straightened. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. 

She nodded as she took another breath. It was a little steadier. “Maybe I ought to sit down,” she said. 

He put a hand on the small of her back to guide her. She sidestepped him at once. 

“Don’t,” she warned. “I am not going to tear apart.”

She wouldn't admit that was exactly how she felt. 

Moving out of his reach, she went to the couch and was halfway down when realized there wouldn’t be a way to sit gracefully. She twisted again in the attempt. 

“Damn it!” she said loudly. Something might have popped. 

He took a large step forward but came no closer or ask her any questions. 

She closed her eyes and admitted defeat. It wasn’t possible to do this alone. 

“Would you look? That felt like a stitch going,” she said. 

He came to her with a gentleness that never seemed to match his size. He hardly touched her as he joined though he sat so close she might have felt the warmth from his skin. 

She took off her sweater—the red one she had been wearing when she arrived on the helicarrier—and pulled up the white tank top. The shirt wasn’t stained, which was a good sign, but the bandage was tinged with red along the wound. That was not a good sign. 

His fingers probed her skin, traced her ribs. She nearly shuttered. He pulled back a corner of bandage and winced on her behalf. 

“That bad?” she asked. 

“Yeah, but I think the stitches are okay.” 

She didn’t answer as he fixed the adhesive back in place. He tugged her shirt out of her hand and smoothed it down. 

“Who knew sitting could be so dangerous? Just take it easy,” he said tenderly. 

Her defiant streak flared. “You can’t expect me—I don't want to take it easy.” She imitated his accent as she repeated his words. “Last time, there was a job to do, so I was up the next day and back to work. It all turned out fine.” 

She knew that was only because of the serum; it had nothing to do with her strength of character. No one was that stubborn. She shouldn’t have been out of bed and it shouldn’t have turned out fine, but she wouldn’t admit either point aloud. 

The look on his face changed, but not in the way she had been expecting. She was expecting a fight—like the one he had been giving her. It was for her own good. Just be patient. Your only job is to get better. Just rest. Take it easy. 

The look he was giving her was nothing but affection. The corners of lips turned up. His eyes softened. If she wasn’t so vexed she would have wanted to kiss him. But she was annoyed, so she sucked in a deep breath to tell him off and didn’t get the chance. 

“Back to work,” he said with a sigh and a real smile. “Always so much to prove. Both of us, right?” 

The wind went out of her sails. He had disarmed her. Where did his pearls of wisdom come from? He could be so hopeless sometimes and then other times he saw her like a search light. Maybe it was because they were kindred sprites. They matched. They fit. 

“Darling,” she softly said. 

“You know, you were always the one I could be honest with. I was supposed to be able to carry the world but I could tell you when I was tired.” 

“You can. Always.” 

“So, you can do the same with me. I won’t judge. Especially when it’s my fault you got hurt.” 

“That’s not true,” she said at once. She didn’t hesitate. He was always blaming himself and she wouldn’t stand for it. 

“Well, you wouldn’t have been in harm’s way if it weren’t for me.” 

“ _I would be a very old lady by now if it weren’t for you_ ,” she thought but didn’t feel the need to add. 

He continued, “So, let me take care of you. Because I want to, not because you need it.” He leaned closer to push a lock of hair behind her ear. 

It was a sweet, slightly clumsy gesture, but she found herself blushing a little. There had never been time for these little things before. They had always been afraid of getting caught or they would only have a few minutes alone. Their poor impulse control aside, there was too much at risk to be a real couple. 

They would disappear for a quiet conversation or something else. They always tried to find their way next to each other during missions. It meant a shoulder to lean during the lulls or an extra set of keen eyes during the hairier moments. They always shared food. They listened to each other. But it was war. It wasn’t exactly going steady. 

The way they kept touching each other over the past few days was all new. Reaching for him and having him reach back without a hint of reservation. Even now when they were alone, but it still felt bold. To be a couple shouldn’t require boldness. 

It was daring to her. It was the one thing she had never fully accomplished. Not because of losing him, but because she was ninety-two and looked twenty-five. The world had left her behind as she stayed stuck in time. She was struck again by the feeling of not belonging, of being separate, of going through the motions. 

To be together. To let him in all the time. To let anyone in. She had come close to forgetting how to do that. Tony was the one who clung on. The one thing left over. Until Steve. 

She leaned towards him and kissed him. It was gentle; their lips brushing against each other. She pulled back and buried herself against him. He wrapped his arms around her. 

She sighed heavily. 

“Does that hurt?” he asked, loosening his grip. 

She started to tell him not to fuss but changed her mind. “It’s not because of you.” 

“So, you are in pain?”

“Yes, but it’s to be expected.” 

“Can I get you anything?”

She sat up again. There was a shadow of worry on his face. Again. He must be picturing her bleeding on the ground. She didn’t know how to make that stop without replacing it with images of her recovering. 

“I’ll be alright,” Peggy said. 

“I know you will.” 

“Do you know what?" 

"What?" he said. 

“Do you know what I really want?” 

“What?” He sounded nervous. The possibilities were endless. 

“Ice cream. You get ice cream when you’re infirmed, right?” 

“Let’s see what we can do.” 

He got up and went to the freezer. She didn’t know what had been purchased, but she was sure ice cream wasn’t on the list. He yanked open the door with a flourish and his shoulders slumped in disappointment. 

“You got regular ice,” he said, pulling out a blue plastic tray. “That’s about it.” 

“Darling, that’s not quite the same thing.” 

“Isn’t it?” 

She snorted and then put her free hand to her side to stabilize her ribs. 

The worry crossed his face again. He was still trying to make up for something.

“I guess I could run out.” He didn’t really seem on board with that plan. 

“Oh, don’t bother.” 

He squared his shoulders. “No, my best girl wants ice cream, so she will get it.” 

“You’re a vision.” 

“Need anything else?” 

“I could use a few minutes with my eyes closed.” 

"You rest. I'll be right back."

As he grabbed the throw, she gave him directions to the closest convenient store. He crouched beside her as she talked and spread the blanket over her legs. 

“Are you sure you don’t mind going?” she asked. 

“Of course. I’ll be back in half an hour. Tops,” he said as he straightened. 

“Hey,” she said sharply, and he froze like he’d done something wrong. “You forgot something.” 

She motioned him closer with a single finger and another smile. He smiled back, catching on. 

He leaned down, and she kissed him. It was familiar and lazy and exactly the kind of moment they had never been allowed before. 

“Thank you,” she said. 

“Least I can do,” he said and hurry out the door before he lost his nerve. 

Peggy waited only second before pushing the blanket off. She hauled herself to her feet and peered out the window in the bedroom because it faced the street. He walked down the sidewalk with his shoulders hunched and his hand jammed deeply in the pockets of his jacket. He disappeared around the corner and she sighed. He was on his own now. 

Her gaze moved around the room. More strange and familiar sights. The decor in here was a little lighter than in the living area. The furniture was a honey-colored wood. The bed frame was whitewashed and had a white comforter with a delicate pattern in red sewn throughout. 

It was too tempting. Just a few minutes. 

She eased herself down and hugged a pillow close. The events of the past few days played on this in mind instead of sleep, but it was something close to restful. 

Next time she was aware, she was listening to the door open and close. Steve’s heavy footfalls crossed the apartment. She didn’t stir. Maybe he would just climb into bed with her if he thought she was sleeping. 

But he called her name instead, and she recognized a little panic in the tone. She answered him and struggled to sit up from the position she was in. 

He appeared in the doorway holding a plastic shopping bag. “There you are.” 

“Did you think I’d left?” she asked with a flare of anger she couldn’t explain. 

He shrugged. “I didn’t think anything.” 

“So, you were not—for one wild moment—worried I had picked up and left?”

He frowned as what she was saying made little sense and it only confirmed it. “I just didn't know where you were.” 

“I’ll have you know that just because I didn’t keep in touch doesn’t mean I simply disappeared. I said goodbye to everyone important. I would never just vanish.” 

His frown got a little deeper. 

“Let me get you a spoon,” he said flatly. 

He left again. 

Damn it. She hadn’t meant that as a jab. Well, she had, but about how well he knew her, not about his disappearance. She had already accused him of not doing enough to save himself when the plane crashed. Well, maybe she did mean it in both senses. 

She hurried after him. 

He was looking through the cabinets and pointedly did not glance in her direction. 

"I didn't mean that,” she said. 

"No?" 

“I didn't want to start a fight.” 

They used to do that; they'd pick fights with each other, especially when they knew they were going to have to be apart. It made harder to miss each other. Their little fights had made coming back together all the sweeter too. A bit of space or maybe another near death experience always made them forget the reason for the spat. 

It was how she had known it was over when they talked over the radio. He had agreed with her. He hadn't sniped or whined or played the victim. She had always thought he hadn't wanted to end on bad terms, in anger; he had known there would be no chance for forgiveness. 

Finally, he turned to face her. 

"Me neither," he said. 

"I think we’re both a little jumpy. We have to figure out how to do this in civilian life and get to know each other again after so much has happened.”

"Yeah, maybe."

She moved closer and hugged him from behind. She kissed his shoulder. 

"You know what?" she said. 

He twisted in her arms and hugged her back. "What?"

"All things considered, I'd still rather be right here. With you."

"Really?" 

"I have lived a life—several times over in fact, but I had forgotten things don't always end in disaster." 

"If this doesn't qualify as a disaster, I don't know what does." 

"They never end the way you expect. I feel awake for the first time in two decades. I've been stuck. I let the weight of this tired old world get to me. But I feel like I have someone—a few people actually—to share the load again and it feels good." 

"Steep price." 

"For me and for the agent who lost his life. We'll do better next time."

"Next time?" 

"There's always a next time.”

"You still want to come back?" He sounded so surprised. 

"I want to be where you are. We have to be there to save each other's arses." 

He stepped back a little and took her face in both his hands. 

"I love you," he said. 

"I love you too."

He kissed her. 

**

Peggy woke slowly to a room bathed in the beginnings of a beautiful day that hadn't quite arrived yet. She had to admit she felt exactly the same way. She was awake, but she wasn’t ready to break the spell. 

Her life so rarely allowed for these quiet moments so she relished them. The city was still, the room dim, and the weight and warmth of a man she loved around her. She had never minded this time a day as long as it wasn’t an alarm pulling her from her dreams. 

Steve sighed in this sleep and she pressed closer to him. 

Her phone chirped just once on the nightstand. It wasn’t an alarm, and it wasn’t the work phone, so she reached for it without untangling herself. She had one guess. 

The screen read Natasha and the message was simple. COFFEE? 

Peggy considered before writing back an equally brief text. THE USUAL SPOT? 

They were turning this into a little ritual. Lazy Saturdays started with breakfast with Natasha. Steve slept late anyway. By the time she got back, he was generally ready to be conscious. 

Natasha sent back a little picture of a thumbs up. Peggy didn’t understand the little pictures. She knew how to add them to conversations but she had never felt the need. 

Kids these days. She smiled to herself. 

Peggy wiggled out of Steve’s arms and sat up. He felt the movement and stirred. 

"Whasshappening?" he said without opening his eyes. 

"I'm meeting Natasha. Go back to sleep." 

"Tell her hi," he said into the pillow. 

She perched on the edge of the bed and ran her fingers through his hair. He smiled, but still didn't open his eyes.

"Would you like me to bring anything back?" she asked in a whisper. 

He grunted. 

"Right. Love you." 

"You too." 

She reached over to kiss his shoulder. He gave her another smile and buried deeper into his pillow. 

She rose to her feet and stretched, careful to brace her side to keep from going too far. It had been weeks since the surgery and she was healed but for the tightness and sensitivity over her ribs. 

Padding around the apartment on quiet feet, she got ready. She replaced the shirt she had been sleeping in—one of Steve's—with a dress with a pattern of large white and blue flowers and a pair of ballet flats. To manage her messy bedhead hair, she tucked it into a braid she twisted so it was off her collar, a trick she had learned in S.O.E. training many years ago. A light coat of makeup and she was suddenly presentable. 

She met Natasha on the Brooklyn side of the bridge in the park in its shadow. Natasha had an apartment near the Manhattan side. She was on a bench in the sunshine with two cups of coffee waiting and something in a brown paper bag. Probably something sweet. 

Peggy sat and accept a coffee without a greeting. 

"You have beat me the last three times," Peggy said. “What do I owe you?” 

“A challenge. You have to get here faster." Natasha tried to hide her smile by taking a sip from her cup. 

"Cheeky. I was still in bed." 

"How is Steve?” Natasha asked. 

“Still asleep I believe.” 

“It’s alright for some.” 

The tendency towards insomnia was another thing Natasha and Peggy had in common. 

“He said to say hello,” Peggy added. 

“I say hello back.” 

They continued to chat as they ate their breakfast, splitting a blueberry scone from the bag. 

Peggy wondered at what the people around them saw. It was, in fact, a beautiful day and the park was filling up. She doubted many people paid them any attention. Those that did likely saw two young, attractive women having coffee. No one could see the depth of the well. Two of the greatest spies in history. Sitting on a bench in the sunshine. Having breakfast. 

And they were just normal people as far as anyone was concerned. They kept their conversation light and off topic. 

“It was good to have you at the helm the other day,” said Natasha as they got up to take a lap around the park before parting ways. 

They had been on two missions since the first, but they had all gone to plan, so there wasn’t much to discuss, anyway. Peggy had run the last one from start to finish with boots on the ground. 

They allowed a few minutes of shop talk, hashing over the missions, their personal successes, and failures. They were building their team, searching for others to join them. Fury was even reconsidering Tony’s application with a promise from Peggy she would keep him in line. He knew not to cross his Auntie Peg she hoped. 

The rust had worked its way off Peggy’s bones. The feeling of being alive and awake always washed over her as she prepared for a mission. She had denied it for a long time, but it was where she belonged. And with Steve beside her, she felt unstoppable. 

“I’m glad I could meet your standards, Romanov,” Peggy said. 

She looked down. It was too easy to make her blush. 

“It’s impressive to watch you work,” Natasha said. 

“Likewise. I knew put you and Steve together was a good idea. You’re a good team.” 

“I was going to say the same.” 

Now, Peggy’s cheeks got warm. She knew Natasha meant more than just in the field. 

“I see that smile,” said Natasha. 

Peggy rubbed her hand over her mouth. 

“You look like a girl with a crush. 

“I supposed I am a little. It’s hard to believe.” 

"God, you're one of those couples who is just madly in love with their best friend, aren’t you?"

Peggy was still smiling, and she shrugged. 

"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" she said in an attempt at a very poor segue. 

Natasha laughed. 

They had reached the steps to the bridge; it was time to part ways. 

"Anything coming up next week?" Natasha asked. 

"Not yet, but there's always something."

"Then, I will probably see later." 

"Indeed." She kissed Natasha on the cheek as they said goodbye. "Have a good weekend." 

"You too, Director."

She waited until Natasha had disappeared from sight before turning and starting for home. 

She emerged from the subway a few stops early and strolled through Brooklyn. It really was a beautiful day. 

She spotted Steve lounging on the stoop as soon as she turned onto her block. 

“Hey, soldier,” she called. 

Steve pulled on the baseball cap he was wearing as if he had been hoping even Peggy wouldn't recognize him as he sat outside their own apartment. 

He was dressed in modern jeans and a plaid button down. He wasn't hunching or skulking; he looked like he belonged. Leaps and bounds. 

“How was coffee?” he asked. 

“Lovely. Natasha says hello back.” 

“Good. Did you have any other plans for today?” 

“Nothing in particular.” 

“Farm’s market?” 

This was also becoming a Saturday ritual. “Wonderful idea.” 

He popped off his step and held out his arm. "May I escort the lady?" 

She linked her arm with his with a laugh. 

"Oh Captain, it'd be an honor," she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank so very much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
